V 


'    si^"  ~~?-rf~—?  /  v  v  ^\  "-  /  r^~ 

{^v^j^-O^1^ 

-f-^^^-fi  ^J^/P^j^PSf 


GIFT   OF 
Mr.    James   S.   Porter 


KATY  O'GRADY'S  VICTORY. 


FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL 


BY 

HORATIO  ALGER,  JR. 

AUTHOR    OF    u  RAGGED   DICK   SERIES,"    "  LUCK   AJfD   PLUCK 


PHILADELPHIA 
HENRY  T,  COATES  &  CO. 


COPYRIGHT,  1896, 

BY 
HENRY  T.  COATES  &  CO. 


A3 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     FRANK  AND  BEN, 5 

II.  MR.  CRAVEN'S  COURTSHIP,       ....  15 

III.  UNWELCOME  NEWS, 21 

IV.  MR.  CRAVEN'S  FOUR-LEGGED  ENEMY,     .        .  30 
V.     MR.  CRAVEN'S  RETURN, 40 

VI.  THE  DIFFICULTY  OF  KILLING  A  DOG,     .        .  50 

VII.  Miss  O'GRADY'S  VICTORY,       ....  59 

VIII.     FRANK  is  OBSTINATE, 69 

IX.  A  STRANGER  APPEARS  ON  THE  SCENE,    .        .  79 

X.  A  CONSPIRACY  AGAINST  FRANK,      ...  84 

XL     TRAPPED, 96 

XII.     Two  BOY  FRIENDS, 105 

XIII.  JONATHAN  TARBOX,  OF  SQUASHBORO',     .        .  114 

XIV.  THE  LONDON  CLERK, 123 

XV.  MR.  TARBOX  is  OBSTINATE,      .        .        .        .133 

XVI.  AN  ADVENTURE  IN  LONDON,    .        .        .        .142 

XVII.  COLONEL  SHARPLEY'S  RUSE,     ....  152 

XVIII.  MR.  TARBOX  AT  THE  PARIS  EXPOSITION,        .  162 

XIX.  FRANK  ASSERTS  HIS  RIGHTS,    ....  172 

(iii) 


IV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XX.  FRANK  LEAVES  PARIS,       ....     182 

XXL  THE  HOTEL  DU  GLACIER,  ....      .        .        .192 

XXII.     OVER  THE  BRINK, 202 

XXIII.  GIVING  THE  ALARM, 208 

XXIV.  SHARPLEY  DISSEMBLES,       .        .        .        .212 
XXV.     A  USELESS  SEARCH, 217 

XXVI.  MR.  TARBOX  ON  THE  TRAIL,      .        .        .222 

XXVII.     TARBOX  TO  THE  EESCUE 232 

XXVIII.  SAVED  AS  BY  A  MIRACLE,  ....     237 

XXIX.  FRANK'S  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR,       .        .        .     242 


XXX.     NEW  FRIENDS, 


2J2 


XXXI.  How  THE  NEWS  WENT  HOME,   .        .        .     261 

XXXII.  BEN  BRINGS  GOOD  NEWS,  .        .        .        .269 

XXXIII.  ALPINE  EXPLORATIONS  OF  MR.  TARBOX,  .     279 

XXXIV.  THE  PLOW  is  A  SUCCESS,    .        .        .        .287 
XXXV.  MR.  CRAVEN    MEETS  WITH    UNEXPECTED 

DIFFICULTIES, 296 

XXXVI.  SHARPLEY' s  KETURN,          .        .        .        .306 

XXXVII.  MRS.  CRAVEN'S  FIXED  IDEA,     .        .        .315 

XXXVIII.  KETRIBUTION,       ....                     325 


FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL 


CHAPTER   I. 

FRANK    AND    BEN. 

••  TS  your  mother  at  home,  Frank?"  asked 

_!_     a  soft  voice. 

Frank  Hunter  was  stretched  on  the  lawn 
in  a  careless  posture,  but  looked  up  quickly 
as  the  question  fell  upon  his  ear.  A  man  of 
middle  height  and  middle  age  was  looking  at 
him  from  the  other  side  of  the  gate. 

Frank  rose  from  his  grassy  couch  and  an 
swered  coldly  : 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  believe  so.     I  will  go  in  and 


see." 


"  Oh,  don't  trouble  yourself,  my  young 
friend,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  opening  the  gate 
and  advancing  toward  the  door  with  a  brisk 
step.  "  I  will  ring  the  bell ;  I  want  to  see 
your  mother  on  a  little  business." 

(5) 


6  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Seems  to  me  he  has  a  good  deal  of  busi 
ness  with  mother,"  Frank  said  to  himself. 
"There's  something  about  the  man  I  don't 
like,  though  he  always  treats  me  well  enough. 
Perhaps  it's  his  looks." 

"  How  are  you,  Frank  ?" 

Frank  looked  around,  and  saw  his  partic 
ular  friend,  Ben  Cameron,  just  entering  the 
gate. 

"Tip-top,  Ben,"  he  answered,  cordially. 
"  I'm  glad  you've  come." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it ;  I  thought  you  might 
be  engaged." 

"Engaged?  What  do  you  mean,  Ben?" 
asked  Frank,  with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"  Engaged  in  entertaining  your  future  step 
father,"  said  Ben,  laughing. 

"  My  future  step-father  !"  returned  Frank, 
quickly  ;  "  you  are  speaking  in  riddles,  Ben." 

"  Oh  !  well,  if  I  must  speak  out,  I  saw  Mr. 
Craven  ahead  of  me." 

"  Mr.  Craven  !  Well,  what  if  you  did  ?" 

"  Why,  Frank,  you  must  know  the  cause 
of  his  attentions  to  your  mother." 

"  Ben,"  said  Frank,  his  face  flushing  with 


FRANK  AND  BEN. 


anger,  "  you  are  my  friend,  but  I  don't  want 
even  you  to  hint  at  such  a  thing  as  that." 

"  Have  I  displeased  you,  Frank  ?" 

"  No,  no ;  I  won't  think  of  it  any  more." 

"  I  am  afraid,  Frank,  you  will  have  to  think 
of  it  more,"  said  his  companion,  gravely. 

"You  surely  don't  mean,  Ben,  that  you 
have  the  least  idea  that  my  mother  would 
marry  such  a  man  as  that?"  exclaimed 
Frank,  pronouncing  the  last  words  contemp 
tuously. 

"  It's  what  all  the  village  is  talking  about," 
said  Ben,  significantly. 

"  Then  I  wish  all  the  village  would  mind 
its  own  business,"  said  Frank,  hotly. 

"  I  hope  they  are  wrong,  I  am  sure.  Cra 
ven's  a  mean,  sneaking  sort  of  man,  in  my 
opinion.  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  him  your 
step-father." 

"  It's  a  hateful  idea  that  such  a  man  should 
take  the  place  of  my  dear,  noble  father,"  ex 
claimed  Frank,  with  excitement.  "  My  mother 
wouldn't  think  of  it," 

But  even  as  he  spoke,  there  was  a  fear  in 
his  heart  that  there  might  be  something  in 


8  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

the  rumor  after  all.  He  could  not  be  blind 
to  the  frequent  visits  which  Mr.  Craven  had 
made  at  the  house  of  late.  He  knew  that  his 
mother  had  come  to  depend  on  him  greatly 
in  matters  of  business.  He  had  heard  her 
even  consult  him  about  her  plans  for  him 
self,  and  this  had  annoyed  him.  Once  he 
had  intimated  his  dislike  of  Mr.  Craven,  but 
his  mother  had  reproved  him,  saying  that  she 
considered  him  a  true  friend,  and  did  not 
know  how  to  do  without  him.  But  he  stifled 
this  apprehension,  and  assured  Ben,  in  the 
most  positive  terms,  that  there  was  nothing 
whatever  in  the  report.  Whether  there  was 
or  not,  we  shall  be  able  to  judge  better  by  en 
tering  the  house  and  being  present  at  the  in 
terview. 

Mrs.  Hunter  was  sitting  in  a  rocking-chair, 
with  a  piece  of  needle-work  in  her  hand. 
She  was  a  small,  delicate-looking  woman,  still 
pretty,  though  nearer  forty  than  thirty,  and 
with  the  look  of  one  who  would  never  depend 
on  herself,  if  she  could  find  some  one  to  lean 
upon  for  counsel  and  guidance.  Frank,  who 
was  strong  and  resolute,  had  inherited  these 


FRANK  AND  BEN.  9 

characteristics  not  from  her  but  from  his 
father,  who  had  died  two  years  previous,  his 
strong  and  vigorous  constitution  succumbing 
to  a  sudden  fever,  which  in  his  sturdy  frame 
found  plenty  to  prey  upon. 

And  who  was  Mr.  Craven  ? 

He  was,  or  professed  to  be,  a  lawyer,  who 
six  months  before  had  come  to  the  town  of 
Shelby.  He  had  learned  that  Mrs.  Hunter 
was  possessed  of  a  handsome  competence,  and 
had  managed  an  early  introduction.  He  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  her  to  employ  him  in  some 
business  matters,  and  under  cover  of  this  had 
called  very  often  at  her  house.  From  the  first 
he  meant  to  marry  her  if  he  could,  as  his 
professional  income  was  next  to  nothing,  and 
with  the  money  of  the  late  Mr.  Hunter  he 
knew  that  he  would  be  comfortably  provided 
for  for  life.  This  very  afternoon  he  had 
selected  to  make  his  proposal,  and  he  knew 
so  well  the  character  and  the  weakness  of  the 
lady  that  he  felt  a  tolerable  assurance  of  suc 
cess.  He  knew  very  well  that  Frank  did  not 
like  him,  and  he  in  turn  liked  our  young 
hero  no  better,  but  he  always  treated  him 


10  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

with  the  utmost  graciousness  and  suavity  from 
motives  of  policy. 

The  room  in  which  they  were  seated  was 
very  neatly  and  tastefully  furnished.  He 
looked,  to  employ  a  common  phrase,  "  as  if 
butter  wouldn't  melt  in  his  mouth,"  and  his 
voice  was  soft  and  full  of  suavity. 

They  had  evidently  heen  talking  on  busi 
ness,  for  he  is  saying,  "  Now  that  our  business 
interview  is  over,  there  is  another  subject,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Hunter,  on  which  1  wish  to  speak 
to  you." 

She  looked  up,  not  suspecting  what  was 
coming,  and  said,  "What  is  it,  Mr.  Craven?" 

"  It's  a  very  delicate  matter.  I  hardly 
know  how  to  introduce  it." 

Something  in  his  look  led  her  to  suspect 
now,  and  she  said,  a  little  nervously,  "  Go 
on,  Mr.  Craven." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Hunter,  the  frequent  visits 
I  have  made  here  have  given  me  such  a  view 
of  your  many  amiable  qualities,  that  almost 
without  knowing  it,  I  have  come  to  love  you." 

Mrs.  Hunter  dropped  her  work  nervously, 
and  seemed  agitated. 


FKANK  AND  BEN.  11 

"  I  esteem  you,  Mr.  Craven,"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice,  "  but  I  have  never  thought  of  mar 
rying  again." 

"  Then  think  of  it  now,  I  entreat  you. 
My  happiness  depends  upon  it — think  of 
that.  When  I  first  discovered  that  I  loved 
you,  I  tried  hard  to  bury  the  secret  in  my 
own  breast,  but — but  it  became  too  strong 
for  me,  and  now  I  place  my  fate  in  your 
hands." 

By  this  time  he  had  edged  round  to  her 
side,  and  lifted  her  hand  gently  in  his,  and 
pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"  Do  not  drive  me  to  despair,"  he  mur 
mured  softly. 

UI — I  never  thought  you  loved  me  so 
much,  Mr.  Craven,"  said  Mrs.  Hunter,  in 
agitation. 

"  Because  I  tried  to  hide  it." 

"  Can  you  riot  still  be  my  friend  and  give 
up  such  thoughts  ?" 

"  Never,  never !"  he  answered,  shaking  his 
head.  "  If  you  deny  my  suit,  I  shall  at  once 
leave  this  village,  and  bury  my  sorrow  and 
desolation  of  heart  in  some  wild  prairie 


12  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

scene,  far  from  the  haunts  of  men,  where  I 
shall  linger  out  the  remnant  of  my  wretched 
life." 

"  Don't — pray  don't,  Mr.  Craven,"  she  said, 
in  a  tone  of  distress. 

But,  feeling  that  surrender  was  at  hand,  he 
determined  to  carry  the  fortress  at  once. 
He  sank  down  on  his  knees,  and,  lifting  his 
eyes,  said  : 

"  Say  yes,  I  entreat  you,  dear  Mrs.  Hunter, 
or  I  shall  be  miserable  for  life." 

"  Pray  get  up,  Mr.  Craven." 

"  Never,  till  I  hear  the  sweet  word,  *  yes.' ' 

"  Yes,  then,"  she  answered,  hastily,  scarcely 
knowing  what  she  said. 

At  this  moment,  while  Mr.  Craven  was  yet 
on  his  knees,  the  door  opened  suddenly,  and 
Katy,  the  Irish  maid -of- all- work,  entered  : 

"Holy  St.  Pathrick!"  she  exclaimed,  as 
she  witnessed  the  tableau. 

Mrs.  Hunter  blushed  crimson,  but  Mr. 
Craven  was  master  of  the  situation.  Cleverly 
taking  advantage  of  it  to  fix  the  hasty  con 
sent  he  had  obtained,  he  turned  to  Katy  with 
his  habitual  smirk. 


FRANK  AND  BEN.  13 

"  Katy,  my  good  girl,"  he  said,  u  you  must 
not  be  too  much  startled.  Shall  I  explain 
to  her,  dear  Mrs.  Hunter?" 

The  widow,  with  scarlet  face,  was  about  to 
utter  a  feeble  remonstrance,  but  he  did  not 
wait  for  it. 

"  Your  mistress  and  I  are  engaged,  Katy," 
he  said,  briskly.  "  You  shall  be  the  first  to 
congratulate  us." 

"  Indade,    sir !"    exclaimed   Katy.     "  Is  it 
goin'  to  be  married,  ye  are?" 
'  "  Yes,  Katy." 

"  I  congratulate  you,  sir,"  she  said,  signifi 
cantly. 

"  Plague  take  her  !"  thought  Mr.  Craven  ; 
"  so  she  has  the  impudence  to  object,  has  she? 
I'll  soon  set  her  packing  when  I  come  into 
possession." 

But  he  only  said,  with  his  usual  suavity  : 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Katy.  I  feel  that  I 
am  indeed  fortunate." 

"Indade,  mum,  I  didn't  think  you  wud 
marry  ag'in,"  said  Katy,  bluntly. 

"  I— I  didn't  intend  to,  Katy,  but—" 

"  I  couldn't  be  happy  without  her,"  said 


14  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

Mr.  Craven,  playfully.  "  But,  Katy,  you  had 
something  to  say  to  Mrs.  Hunter." 

"  What  will  I  get  for  supper,  mum  ?" 

"  Anything  you  like,  Katy,"  said  Mrs. 
Hunter,  who  felt  too  much  flustered  to  give 
orders.  "  Will  you  stay  to  supper,  Mr. 
Craven  ?" 

"  Not  to-night,  dear  Mrs.  Hunter.  I  am 
sure  you  will  want  to  think  over  the  new  plans 
of  happiness  we  have  formed.  1  will  stay  a 
few  minutes  yet,  and  then  bid  you  farewell  till 
to-morrow." 

"That's  the  worst  news  Katy  O'Grady's 
heard  yet,"  said  Katy,  as  she  left  the  room 
and  returned  to  her  own  department.  "  How 
can  my  mistress,  that's  a  rale  lady,  if  ever 
there  was  one,  tike  up  wid  such  a  mane  apol 
ogy  for  a  man.  Shure  I  wouldn't  take  him 
meself,  not  if  he'd  go  down  on  forty  knees  to 
me — no,  I  wouldn't,"  and  Katy  tossed  her 
head. 


MB.  CEA YEN'S  COURTSHIP.  15 


CHAPTER  II. 
MR.  CRAVEN'S  COURTSHIP. 

WHEN  Katy  left  the  room,  Mr.  Craven 
still  kept  his  place  at  the  side  of  the 
widow. 

"I  hope,"  he  said  softly,  "you  were  not 
very  much  annoyed  at  Katy's  sudden  en 
trance  ?" 

"  It  was  awkward,"  said  Mrs.  Hunter. 

"  True,  but,  after  all,  is  there  anything  to 
be  ashamed  of  in  our  love  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Craven,  I  do  not  love 
you." 

"  Not  yet,  but  you  will.  I  am  sure  you  will 
when  you  see  how  completely  I  am  devoted 
to  you." 

"  It  seems  so  sudden,"  faltered  Mrs.  Hun 
ter. 

"  But,  setting  aside  my  affection,  think  how 
much  it  will  relieve  you  of  care.  Dear  Mrs. 


16  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

Hunter,  the  care  of  your  property  and  the  re 
sponsibility  of  educating  and  training  your 
son  is  too  much  for  a  woman." 

"  Frank  never  gives  me  any  trouble,"  said 
Mrs.  Hunter.  "  He  is  a  good  boy." 

"  He  is  a  disagreeable  young  scamp,  in  mv 
opinion,"  thought  Mr.  Craven,  but  lie  said, 
unwittingly  speaking  the  truth  : 

"  He  is  indeed  a  noble  boy,  with  excellent 
qualities,  but  you  will  soon  be  called  upon  to 
form  plans  for  his  future,  and  here  you  will 
need  the  assistance  of  a  man." 

"  I  don't  know  but  what  you  are  right,  Mr. 
Craven.  I  should  have  consulted  you." 

"  Only  one  who  fills  a  father's  place,  dear 
Mrs.  Hunter,  can  do  him  justice." 

"  I  am  afraid  Frank  won't  like  the  idea  of 
my  marrying  again,"  said  Mrs.  Hunter, 
anxiously. 

"  He  may  not  like  it  at  first,  but  he  will  be 
amenable  to  reason.  Tell  him  that  it  is  for 
your  happiness." 

"  But  I  don't  know.     I  can't  feel  sure  that 


it  is.". 


I  am  having  more   trouble   than 


MR.  CRAVEN'S  COURTSHIP.  17 

pected,"  thought  Mr.  Craven.  "  I  must  hurry 
up  the  marriage  or  I  may  lose  her,  and,  what 
is  of  more  importance,  the  money  she  repre 
sents.  By  the  way,  I  had  better  speak  on  that 
subject." 

"There  are  some  who  will  tell  you  that  I 
have  only  sought  you  because  you  are  rich  in 
this  world's  goods — that  I  am  a  base  and  mer 
cenary  man,  who  desires  to  improve  his  cir 
cumstances  by  marriage,  but  you,  I  hope,  dear 
Mrs.  Hunter — may  I  say,  dear  Mary — will 
never  do  me  that  injustice." 

"  I  do  not  suspect  you  of  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Hunter,  who  was  never  ready  to  suspect  the 
motives  of  others,  though  in  this  case  Mr. 
Craven  had  truly  represented  his  object  in 
seeking  her. 

"  I  knew  you  would  not,  but  others  may  try 
to  misrepresent  me,  and  therefore  I  feel  it 
necessary  to  explain  to  you  that  my  wealth, 
though  not  equal  to  your  own,  is  still  consid 
erable." 

"  I  have  never  thought  whether  you  were 
rich  or  poor,"  said  Mrs.  Hunter.  "  It  would 
not  influence  my  decision." 


18  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

While  she  spoke,  however,  it  did  excite  in 
her  a  momentary  surprise  to  learn  that  since 
Mr.  Craven  was  rich,  he  should  settle  down  in 
so  small  and  unimportant  a  place  as  Shelby, 
where  he  could  expect  little  business  of  a  pro 
fessional  nature. 

"  I  know  your  generous,  disinterested  char 
acter,"  he  said ;  "  but  still  I  wish  to  explain 
to  you  frankly  my  position,  to  prove  to  you 
that  I  am  no  fortune-hunter.  I  have  twenty 
thousand  dollars  invested  in  Lake  Superior 
mining  stocks,  and  I  own  a  small  house  in 
New  York  City,  worth  about  fifteen  thousand 
dollars.  It  is  not  much/'  he  added,  modestly, 
"  but  is  enough  to  support  me  comfortably, 
and  will  make  it  clear  that  I  need  not  marry 
from  mercenary  motives.  I  shall  ask  the 
privilege  of  assisting  to  carry  out  your 
plans  for  Frank,  in  whom  I  feel  a  warm  in 
terest." 

"  You  are  very  generous  and  kind,  Mr. 
Craven,"  said  Mrs.  Hunter,  "  but  his  father 
amply  provided  for  him.  Two-thirds  of  his 
property  was  left  to  Frank,  and  will  go  to  him 
on  his  twenty-first  birth-day." 


MR.  CRAVEN'S  COURTSHIP.  19 

"  Drat  the  boy,"  thought  Mr.  Craven,  "  he 
stands  between  me  and  a  fortune." 

But  this  thought  was  not  suffered  to  appear 
in  his  face. 

"  I  am  almost  sorry,"  he  said,  with  con 
summate  hypocrisy,  "  that  he  is  so  well  pro 
vided  for,  since  now  he  does  not  stand  in  need 
of  my  help,  that  is,  in  a  pecuniary  way.  But 
my  experience  of  the  world  can  at  least  be  of 
service  to  him,  and  I  will  do  my  best  to  make 
up  to  him  for  the  loss  of  his  dear  father." 

These  last  words  were  feelingly  spoken.  She 
realized  how  much  she  was  wanting  in  the 
ability  to  guide  and  direct  a  boy  of  Frank's 
age.  Mr.  Craven  was  a  lawyer,  and  a  man 
of  the  world.  He  would  be  able,  as  he  said, 
to  relieve  her  from  all  care  about  his  future, 
and  it  was  for  Frank  that  she  now  lived.  Her 
feelings  were  not  enlisted  in  this  marriage 
with  Mr.  Craven.  Indeed,  on  some  accounts 
it  would  be  a  sacrifice. 

The  result  was,  that  twenty  minutes  later, 
when  he  started  homeward,  Mrs.  Hunter  had 
ratified  her  promise,  and  consented  to  an  early 
marriage.  Mr.  Craven  felt  that  he  had,  in- 


20  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

deed,  achieved  a  victory,  and  left  the  house 
with  a  heart  exulting  in  his  coming  pros 
perity. 

Frank  Hunter  and  Ben  Cameron  were  on 
the  lawn,  conversing,  when  the  lawyer  passed 
them. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Frank,"  he  said  with 
suavity. 

"  Good  afternoon,  sir,"  answered  Frank, 
gravely. 

"  The  old  fellow  is  very  familiar,"  said 
Ben,  when  Mr.  Craven  had  passed  out  of  the 
gate. 

"  He  is  more  familiar  than  I  like,"  answered 
Frank.  "  I  don't  know  why  it  is,  Ben,  but  I 
can't  help  disliking  him." 

He  had  reason  to  dislike  Mr.  Craven,  and 
he  was  destined  to  have  still  further  cause, 
though  he  did  not  know  it  at  the  time. 


UNWELCOME  NEWS.  21 


CHAPTER  III. 

UNWELCOME    NEWS. 

SHORTLY  after  Mr.  Craven's  departure, 
Ben  announced  that  lie  must  be  going. 
Left  alone,  Frank  went  into  the  house.  He 
felt  rather  sober,  for  though  he  did  not  be 
lieve  that  his  mother  was  in  any  danger  of 
marrying  again — least  of  all,  Mr.  Craven— 
the  mere  possibility  disturbed  him. 

"  Is  mother  up  stairs,  Katy  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"   said  Katy,  looking  very  knowing. 
"  She  went   up   as  soon  as  Mr.  Craven  went 


away." 


"  He  staid  a  long  time.  He  seems  to  come 
here  pretty  often." 

"  May  be  he'll  come  oftener  and  stay  longer, 
soon,"  said  Katy,  nodding  her  head  vigor 
ously. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Katy  ?  What  makes 
you  say  such  things?'' 


22  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  What  do  I  mane  ?  Why  do  I  say  such 
things?  You'll  know  pretty  soon,  I'm  think- 
ing." 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  at  once  what  you 
mean  ?"  said  Frank,  impatiently. 

"  Mr.  Craven  doesn't  come  here  for  no 
thing,  bad  'cess  to  him,"  said  Katy,  oracularly. 

"  You  don't  mean,  Katy  —  "  exclaimed 
Frank,  in  excitement. 

"  I  mean  that  you're  goin'  to  have  a  step 
father,  Master  Frank,  and  a  mighty  mane  one, 
too  ;  but  if  your  mother's  satisfied,  it  ain't  for 
Katy  O'Grady  to  say  a  word,  though  he  isn't 
fit  for  her  to  wipe  her  shoes  on  him." 

"  Who  told  you  such  a  ridiculous  story  ?" 
demanded  Frank,  angrily. 

"  He  told  me  himself  shure,"  said  Katy. 
"  Didn't  I  pop  in  when  he  was  on  his  knees 
at  your  mother's  feet,  and  didn't  he  ask  me 
to  congratulate  him,  and  your  mother  said 
never  a  word  ?  AVhat  do  you  say  to  that  Mas 
ter  Frank,  now  ?" 

"  I  think  there  must  be  some  mistake, 
Katy,"  said  Frank,  turning  pale.  "  I  will  go 
and  ask  my  mother." 


UNWELCOME  NEWS.  23 

"  No  wonder  the  child  can't  abide  havin' 
such  a  mane  step-father  as  that,"  solilo 
quized  Katy.  "  He  looks  like  a  sneakin' 
hyppercrite,  that  he  does,  and  I'd  like  to  tell 
him  so." 

Mrs.  Hunter  was  an  amiable  woman,  but 
rather  weak  of  will,  and  easily  controlled  by 
a  stronger  spirit.  She  had  yielded  to  Mr. 
Craven's  persuasions  because  she  had  not  the 
power  to  resist  for  any  length  of  time.  That 
she  did  not  feel  a  spark  of  affection  for  him, 
it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say,  but  she  had 
already  begun  to  feel  a  little  reconciled  to  an 
arrangement  which  would  relieve  her  from  so 
large  a  share  of  care  and  responsibility.  She 
was  placidly  thinking  it  all  over  when  Frank 
entered  the  room  hastily. 

"  Have  you  wiped  your  feet,  Frank  ?"  she 
asked,  for  she  had  a  passion  for  neatness. 
"  I  am  afraid  you  will  track  dirt  into  the 


room." 


"  Yes — no — I  don't  know,"  answered 
Frank,  whose  thoughts  were  on  another  sub 
ject.  "Has  Mr.  Craven  been  here?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  mother,  blushing  a  little. 


24  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  He  seemed  to  stay  pretty  long." 

"  He  was  here  about  an  hour." 

"  He  comes  pretty  often,  too." 

"  I  consult  him  about  my  business  affairs, 
Frank." 

u  Look  here,  mother,  what  do  you  think 
Ben  Cameron  told  me  to-day?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,  Frank." 

"  He  said  it  was  all  over  the  village  that  you 
were  going  to  marry  him." 

"  I — I  didn't  think  it  had  got  round  so 
soon,"  said  the  widow,  nervously. 

"  So  soon  !  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say 
there's  anything  in  it,  mother  ?"  said  Frank, 
impetuously. 

"  I  hope  it  won't  displease  you  very  much, 
Frank,"  said  Mrs.  Hunter,  in  embarrassment. 

"Is  it  true?  Are  you  really  going  to 
marry  that  man  ?" 

"  He  didn't  ask  me  till  this  afternoon,  and, 
of  course,  it  took  me  by  surprise,  and  I  said 
so,  but  he  urged  me  so  much  that  I  finally 
consented." 

"  You  don't  love  him,  mother  ?  I  am  sure 
you  can't  love  such  a  man  as  that." 


UNWELCOME  NEWS.  25 

"I  never  shall  love  any  one  again  in  that 
way,  Frank — never  any  one  like  your  poor 
father." 

"  Then  why  do  you  marry  him  ?" 

"  He  doesn't  ask  me  to  love  him.  But  he 
can  relieve  me  of  a  great  many  cares  and  look 
after  you." 

"  I  don't  \va,nt  anybody  to  look  after  me, 
mother — that  is,  anybody  but  you.  I  hate 
Mr.  Craven  !" 

"  Now  that  is  wrong,  Frank.  He  speaks 
very  kindly  of  you — very  kindly  indeed.  He 
says  he  takes  a  great  interest  in  you." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  return  the  interest  he 
professes.  I  dislike  him,  and  I  always  have. 
I  hope  you  won't  be  angry,  mother,  if  I  tell 
you  just  what  I  think  of  him.  I  think  he's 
after  your  property,  and  that  is  what  made 
him  offer  himself.  He  is  poor  as  poverty, 
though  I  don't  care  half  so  much  for  that  as 
I  do  for  other  things." 

"  No,  Frank  ;  you  are  mistaken  there,"  said 
credulous  Mrs.  Hunter,  eagerly.  "  He  is  not 
poor." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 


26  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL, 

"  He  told  me  that  lie  bad  twenty  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  mining  stock  out  West  some 
where,  besides  owning  a  bouse  in  New  York/' 

Frank  looked  astonished. 

"  If  he  has  as  much  property  as  that,"  he 
said,  "  I  don't  see  what  makes  him  come  here. 
I  don't  believe  his  business  brings  him  in 
three  hundred  dollars  a  year." 

"  That's  the  very  reason,  Frank.  He  has 
money  enough,  and  doesn't  mind  if  business 
is  dull.  He  generously  offered  to  pay — or  was 
it  help  pay  ? — the  expenses  of  your  education  ; 
but  I  told  him  that  you  didn't  need  it." 

"If  I  did,  I  wouldn't  take  it  from  him. 
But  what  you  tell  me  surprises  me,  mother. 
He  doesn't  look  as  if  he  was  worth  five  hun 
dred  dollars  in  the  world.  What  made  him 
tell  you  all  this?" 

"  He  said  that  some  people  would  accuse 
him  of  being  a  fortune-hunter,  and  he  wanted 
to  convince  me  that  he  was  not  one." 

"  It  may  be  a  true  story,  and  it  may  not," 
said  Frank. 

"  You  are  really  very  unjust,  Frank," 
said  his  mother.  "  I  don't  pretend  to  love 


UNWELCOME  NEWS.  27 

Mr.  Craven,  and  he  doesn't  expect  it,  but  I 
am  sure  he  has  been  very  kind,  and  he  takes 
a  great  deal  of  interest  in  you,  and  you  will 
learn  to  know  him  better." 

"  When  you  are  married  to  him  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Mother,"  exclaimed  Frank,  impetuously, 
"  don't  marry  this  man  !  Let  us  live  alone, 
as  we  have  done.  We  don't  want  any  third 
person  to  come  in,  no  matter  who  he  is.  I'll 
take  care  of  you." 

"  You  are  only  a  boy,  Frank." 

"  But  I  am  already  fifteen.  I  shall  soon  be 
a  man  at  any  rate,  and  I  am  sure  we  can  get 
along  as  well  as  we  have  done." 

o 

Mrs.  Hunter  was  not  a  strong  or  a  resolute 
woman,  but  even  women  of  her  type  can  be 
obstinate  at  times.  She  had  convinced  herself, 
chiefly  through  Mr.  Craven's  suggestion,  that 
the  step  she  was  about  to  take  was  for  Frank's 
interest,  and  the  thought  pleased  her  that  she 
was  sacrificing  herself  for  him.  The  fact  that 
she  didn't  fancy  Mr.  Craven,  of  course 
heightened  the  sacrifice,  and  so  Frank  found 
her  far  more  difficult  of  persuasion  than  he 


28  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

anticipated.  She  considered  that  he  was  but 
a  boy  and  did  not  understand  his  own  inter 
ests,  but  would  realize  in  future  the  wisdom 
of  her  conduct. 

"  I  have  given  my  promise,  Frank/'  she 
said. 

"  But  you  can  recall  it." 

"It  would  not  be  right.  My  dear  Frank, 
why  can  you  not  see  this  matter  as  I  do  ?  I 
marry  for  your  sake." 

"Then,  mother,  I  have  the  right  to  ask 
you  not  to  do  it.  It  will  make  me  un 
happy." 

"  Frank,  you  do  not  know  what  is  best. 
You  are  too  young." 

"  Then  you  are  quite  determined,  mother?" 
asked  Frank,  sadly. 

"  I  cannot  draw  back  now,  Frank.  I — I 
hope  you  won't  make  me  unhappy  by  op 
posing  it." 

"  I  won't  say  another  word,  mother,  since 
you  have  made  up  your  mind,"  said  Frank, 
slowly.  "  When  is  it  going  to  be  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  yet.  Mr.  Craven  wants  it 
to  be  soon." 


UNWELCOME  NEWS.  29 

"  You  will  let  me  know  when  it  is  decided, 
mother  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Frank." 

He  left  the  room  sad  at  heart.  He  felt  that 
for  him  home  would  soon  lose  its  charms,  and 
that  he  would  never  get  over  the  repugnance 
which  he  felt  against  his  future  step-father. 


30  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PESIL. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
MB.  CRAVEN'S  FOUR-LEGGED  ENEMY. 

MR.  CRAVEN  sought  his  office  in  a  self- 
complacent  mood. 

"  By  Jove !"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I'm  in 
luck.  It's  lucky  I  thought  to  tell  her  that 
I  was  rich.  I  wish  somebody  would  come 
along  and  buy  that  Lake  Superior  mining 
stock  at  five  cents  on  a  dollar,"  he  solilo 
quized,  laughing  softly ;  "  and  if  he'd  be 
good  enough  to  let  me  know  whereabouts  that 
house  in  New  York  is,  I  should  feel  very 
much  obliged.  However,  she  believes  it,  and 
that's  enough.  No,  on  the  whole,  it  isn't 
quite  enough,  for  I  must  have  some  ready 
money  to  buy  a  wedding  suit,  as  well  as  to 
pay  for  my  wedding  tour.  I  can't  very  well 
call  upon  Mrs.  Craven  that  is  to  be  for  that. 
Once  married,  I'm  all  right." 

The   result  of   these   cogitations   was  that 


MR.  CRAVEN'S  FOUR-LEGGED  ENEMY.  31 

having  first  secured  Mrs.  Hunter's  consent  to 
a  marriage  at  the  end  of  two  months,  he  went 
to  New  York  to  see  how  he  could  solve  the 
financial  problem, 

He  went  straightway  to  a  dingy  room  in 
Nassau  Street,  occupied  by  an  old  man  as 
shabby  as  the  apartment  he  occupied.  Yet 
this  old  man  was  a  capitalist,  who  had  for 
thirty  years  lent  money  at  usurious  interest, 
taking  advantage  of  a  tight  money  market 
and  the  needs  of  embarrassed  men,  and  there 
are  always  plenty  of  the  latter  class  in  a  great 
city  like  New  York.  In  this  way  he  had  ac 
cumulated  a  large  fortune,  without  altering 
his  style  of  living.  He  slept  in  a  small  room 
connected  with  his  office,  and  took  his  meals 
at  some  one  of  the  cheap  restaurants  in  the 
neighborhood.  He  was  an  old  man,  of  nearly 
seventy,  with  bent  form,  long  white  beard, 
face  seamed  with  wrinkles,  and  thick,  bushy 
eyebrows,  beneath  which  peered  a  pair  of 
sharp,  keen  eyes.  Such  was  Job  Green,  the 
money-lender. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  enter 
ing  his  office. 


32  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Craven,"  answered 
the  old  man.  He  had  not  met  his  visitor  for 
a  long  time,  but  he  seldom  forgot  a  face.  "  I 
haven't  seen  you  for  years." 

"  No,  I'm  living  in  the  country  now." 

"  In  the  country  ?" 

"  Yes,  in  the  town  of  Shelby,  fifty  miles 
from  the  city." 

"  Aha !  you  have  retired  on  a  fortune  ?"  in 
quired  the  old  man,  waggishly. 

"  Not  yet,  but  I  shall  soon,  I  hope." 

"  Indeed !"  returned  Job,  lifting  his  eye 
brows  as  he  emphasized  the  word.  "  Then  you 
find  business  better  in  the  country  than  in  the 
city?" 

"  Business  doesn't  amount  to  much." 

"  Then  how  will  you  retire  on  the  for 
tune,  Mr.  Craven?  I  really  should  like  to 
know.  Perhaps  I  might  move  out  there 
myself." 

"  I  don't  think,  Mr.  Green,"  said  Craven, 
with  his  soft  smile,  "  you  would  take  the  same 
course  to  step  into  a  fortune." 

"And  why  not?"  inquired  the  old  man, 
innocently. 


MR.  CRAVEN'S  FOUR-LEGGED  ENEMY.  33 

"  Because  I  am  to  marry  a  rich  widow,"  said 
Mr.  Craven. 

"  Aha!  that  is  very  good,"  said  Job,  laugh 
ing.  "  Marrying  isn't  exactly  in  my  line,  to  be 
sure.  Who  is  the  lucky  woman  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Mr.  Green,  for  I  want  you 
to  help  me  in  the  matter." 

u  How  can  I  help  you  ?  You  don't  want 
money  if  you  are  going  to  marry  a  for 
tune,"  said  Job,  beginning  to  be  suspicious 
that  this  was  a  story  trumped  up  to  deceive 
him. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  and  I  will  tell  you  why.  She 
thinks  I  am  rich." 

"  And  marries  you  for  your  money  ?  Aha  ! 
that  is  very  good,"  and  the  man  laughed. 

"  I  told  her  I  owned  twenty  thousand  dol 
lars'  worth  of  stock  in  a  Lake  Superior 


mine." 


"  Very  good." 

"  And  a  fifteen-thousand-dollar  house  in 
this  city." 

"  Oh,  you  droll  dog !  You'll  kill  me  with 
laughing,  Mr.  Craven ;  I  shall  certainly 
choke,"  and  old  Job,  struck  with  the  drollness 


34  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

of  regarding  the  man  before  him  as  a  capi 
talist,  laughed  till  he  was  seized  with  a  cough 
ing  spell. 

"  Well,  well,  Craven,  you're  a  genius," 
said  Job,  recovering  himself.  "  You  wouldn't 
— ha !  ha ! — like  to  have  me  advance  you  a 
few  thousand  on  the  mines,  would  you  now, 
or  take  a  mortgage  on  the  house  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  would." 

"I'll  give  you  a  check  on  the  bank  of  Pat 
agonia,  shall  I  ?" 

"  I  see  you  will  have  your  joke,  Mr.  Green. 
But  I  do  want  some  money,  and  I'll  tell  you 
why.  You  see  I  am  to  be  married  in  two 
months,  and  I  must  have  a  new  suit  of  clothes, 
and  go  on  a  wedding  tour.  That'll  cost  me 
two  or  three  hundred  dollars." 
•  "  Ask  Mrs.  Craven  for  the  money." 

"  I  would,  if  she  were  Mrs.  Craven,  but  it 
won't  do  to  undeceive  her  too  soon." 

"  You  don't  expect  me  to  furnish  the 
money,  Craven,  do  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  What  security  have  you  to  offer  ?" 

"  The  security  of  my  marriage." 


MR.  CRAVEN'S  FOUR-LEGGED  ENEMY.  35 

"  Are  you  sure  there  is  to  be  a  marriage  ?" 
demanded  Job,  keenly.  "  Tell  me,  now,  is  the 
rich  widow  a  humbug  to  swindle  me  out  of  my 
money  ?  Aha!  Craven,  I  have  you." 

"  No,  you  haven't,  Mr.  Green,"  said  Craven, 
earnestly.  "It's  a  real  thing ;  it's  a  Mrs.  Hun 
ter  of  Shelby ;  her  husband  died  two  years 


ago." 


"  How  much  money  has  she  got  ?" 

"  Sixty  thousand  dollars." 

"  What,  in  her  own  right  ?" 

"  Why,  there's  a  son — a  boy  of  fifteen,"  said 
Mr.  Craven,  reluctantly. 

"  Aha !  Well  how  much  has  he  got  of  this 
money?" 

"I'll  tell  you  the  plain  truth,  Mr.  Green, 
He  is  to  have  two-thirds  when  he  comes  of 
age.  His  mother  has  the  balance,  arid  enjoys 
the  income  of  the  whole,  of  course  providing 
for  him  till  that  time." 

"  That's  good,"  said  Job,  thoughtfully. 

"  Of  course,  what  she  has  I  shall  have," 
added  Craven.  "  To  tell  the  truth,"  he  con 
tinued,  smiling  softly,  "I  shan't  spoil  the 
young  gentleman  by  indulgence  when  he  is 


36  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

my  step-son.  I  shan't  waste  much  of  his  in 
come  on  him." 

"  Perhaps  the  mother  will  raise  a  fuss," 
suggested  Job. 

"  No,  she  won't.  She's  a  weak,  yielding 
woman.  I  can  turn  her  round  my  finger." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  then  ?" 

"  I  want  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for 
ninety  days." 

"  And  suppose  I  let  you  have  it  ?" 

"I  will  pay  you  five  hundred.  That  will 
allow  fifty  dollars  a  month  for  the  loan." 

"  But  you  see,  Craven,  she  might  give  you 
the  slip.  There's  a  risk  about  it," 

"  Come  to  Shelby  yourself,  and  make  all  the 
inquiries  you  see  fit.  Then  you  will  see  that 
I  have  spoken  the  truth,  and  there  is  no  risk 
at  all." 

"  Well,  well,  perhaps  I  will.  If  all  is  right, 
I  may  let  you  have  the  money." 

Two  days  afterward  the  old  man  came  to 
Shelby,  stipulating  that  his  traveling  expenses 
should  be  paid  by  Craven.  He  inquired 
around  cautiously,  and  was  convinced  that 
the  story  was  correct.  Finally  he  agreed  to 


ME.  CRAVEN'S  FOUR-LEGGED  ENEMY.  37 

lend  the  money,  but  drove  a  harder  bargain 
than  first  proposed — exacting  six  hundred 
dollars  in  return  for  his  loan  of  three  hun 
dred  and  fifty.  It  was  outrageous,  of  course, 
but  he  knew  how  important  it  was  to  Mr. 
Craven,  and  that  he  must  consent. 

Frank,  according  to  his  determination,  said 
not  a  word  further  to  his  mother  about  the 
marriage.  He  avoided  mentioning  Mr.  Cra 
ven's  name  even.  But  an  incident  about  this 
time,  though  Frank  was  quite  innocent  in  the 
matter,  served  to  increase  Mr.  Craven's  dis 
like  for  him. 

He  had  spent  the  evening  with  Mrs.  Hun 
ter,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  house  when  a 
watch-dog,  which  Frank  had  just  purchased, 
sprang  upon  him,  and,  seizing  him  by  the 
coat-biils,  shook  him  fiercely. 

Mr.  Craven  disliked  dogs,  and  was  thor 
oughly  frightened.  He  gave  a  loud  shriek, 
and  tried  to  escape,  but  the  dog  held  on  grimly. 

"Help,  help!"  he  shrieked,  at  the  top  of 
his  voice. 

Frank  heard  the  cry  from  the  house,  and 
ran  out. 


38  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

At  this  juncture  he  managed  to  break  away 
from  the  dog,  and  made  a  rush  for  the  garden 
wall. 

"  Down,  Pompey  !  Ain't  you  ashamed  of 
yourself?"  said  Frank,  sternly,  seizing  the 
dog  by  the  collar. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Mr.  Craven,"  he  added. 

Mr.  Craven  turned  wild  with  rage,  and  his 
soft  voice  trembled  as  he  said  : 

"  Really,  Frank,  it  is  hardly  fair  to  your 
visitors  to  keep  such  a  fierce  animal  about." 

"  He  didn't  know  you,  sir.  To-morrow  I 
will  make  you  acquainted,  and  then  there  will 
be  no  danger  of  this  occurring  again/' 

"  I  really  hope  not,"  said  Craven,  laughing 
rather  discordantly. 

"  I  hope  he  hasn't  bitten  you,  sir." 

"  No,  but  he  has  torn  my  coat  badly.  How 
ever,  it's  of  no  consequence.  Accidents  will 
happen." 

"  He  takes  it  very  well,"  thought  Frank, 
as  Mr.  Craven  said  good-night.  But  it  was 
by  a  strong  effort  that  his  future  step-father 
had  done  so. 

"  Curse  the  dog !"  he  said  to  himself,  with 


MR.  CRAVEN'S  FOUR-LEGGED  ENEMY.  39 

suppressed  passion.  "  After  I  am  married  and 
fairly  settled  down,  I  will  shoot  him.  Thus 
I  will  spite  the  boy  and  revenge  myself  on  the 
brute  at  the  same  time." 


40  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL, 


CHAPTEK  V. 
MR.  CRAVEN'S  RETURN. 

MR  CRAVEN  called  the  next  day,  as 
usual.  Frank  apologized  again  for 
Pompey's  rude  treatment  of  the  evening  pre 
vious,  and,  as  far  as  he  could,  established 
friendly  relations  between  the  parties.  Pom- 
pey,  who  had  nothing  vicious  about  him,  and 
was  only  anxious  to  do  his  duty,  looked  meek 
and  contrite,  and  Mr.  Craven,  to  all  appear 
ance,  had  quite  forgiven  him. 

"Good  dog!"  he  exclaimed,  patting  Pom- 
pey's  head.  "  Say  no  more  about  it,  Frank," 
he  said,  in  his  usual  soft  voice  ;  "  it  was  only 
an  accident.  I  foresee  that  Pompey  and  I 
will  be  excellent  friends  in  future." 

"  I  hope  your  coat  isn't  much  torn,  sir." 

"  It  can  easily  be  repaired.  It  isn't  worth 
mentioning.  Is  your  mother  at  home." 

"  Yes,  sir.    Walk  in." 


MR.  CRAVEN'S  RETURN.  41 

"  He  behaves  very  well  about  it,"  thought 
Frank.  "  He  may  be  a  better  man  than  I 
thought.  I  wish  I  could  like  him,  as  he  is  to 
be  my  step-father;  but  I  think  there  are  some 
persons  it  is  impossible  to  like." 

So  the  time  passed,  and  the  wedding-day 
drew  near.  Frank  did  not  consider  it  honor 
able  to  make  any  further  objection  to  the 
marriage,  though  he  often  sighed  as  he  thought 
of  the  stranger  who  was  about  to  be  intro 
duced  into  their  small  circle. 

"  Mother  will  seem  different  to  me  when  she 
is  that  man's  wife,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I 
shall  love  her  as  much,  but  she  won't  seem  to 
belong  to  me  as  much  as  she  did." 

In  due  time  the  wedding  was  celebrated. 
Mrs.  Hunter  wished  it  to  be  quiet,  and  Mr. 
Craven  interposed  no  objection.  Quiet  or 
not,  he  felt  that  the  substantial  advantages  of 
the  union  would  be  his  all  the  same.  Mrs. 
Hunter  looked  a  little  nervous  during  the 
ceremony,  but  Mr.  Craven  was  smiling  and 
suave  as  ever.  When  he  kissed  his  wife,  sa 
luting  her  as  Mrs.  Craven,  she  shuddered  a 
little,  and  with  difficulty  restrained  her  tears, 


42  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

for  it  reminded  her  of  her  first  marriage,  so 
different  from  this,  in  which  she  wedded  a 
man  to  whom  she  was  devoted  in  heart  and 
soul. 

The  ceremony  took  place  at  eleven  o'clock, 
and  the  newly-wedded  pair  started  on  a  tour 
as  previously  arranged.  So  for  two  weeks 
Frank  and  Katy  O'Grady  were  left  alone  in 
the  house.  Katy  was  a  privileged  character, 
having  been  in  the  family  ever  since  Frank 
was  a  baby,  and  she  had  no  hesitation  in  de 
claring  her  opinion  of  Mr.  Craven. 

"What  possessed  the  mistress  to  marry 
such  a  mane  specimen  of  a  man,  I  can't  tell," 
she  said. 

"I  don't  like  him  myself,"  said  Frank; 
"but  we  must  remember  that  he's  my  moth 
er's  husband  now,  and  make  the  best  of 
him." 

"And  a  mighty  poor  best  it  will  be,"  said 
Katy. 

"  There  you  go  again,  Katy  !" 

"  I  can't  help  it,  shure.  It  vexes  me  intirely 
that  my  dear  mistress  should  throw  herself 
away  on  such  a  man." 


MR.  CE  A  YEN'S  RETURN.  43 

"  What  can't  be  cured  must  be  endured, 
you  know.  You  mustn't  talk  that  way  after 
Mr.  Craven  comes  back." 

"  And  what  for  will  I  not.  Do  you  think 
I'm  afraid  of  him  ?"  asked  Katy,  defiantly. 
"  If  he  is  a  man,  I  could  bate  him  in  a 
square  fight," 

"I  don't  know  but  you  could,  Katy," 
said  Frank,  glancing  at  the  muscular  arms 
and  powerful  frame  of  the  handmaiden  ;  "  but 
I  really  hope  you  won't  get  into  a  fight,"  he 
added,  smiling.  "  It  wouldn't  look  well,  you 
know." 

"  Then  he'd  better  not  interfare  wid  me," 
said  Katy,  shaking  her  head. 

"You  must  remember  that  he  will  be 
master  of  the  house,  Katy." 

"  But  he  sha'n't  be  master  of  Katy 
O'Grady,"  said  that  lady,  in  a  very  decided 
tone. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you'll  have  much  to  do 
with  him,"  said  Frank. 

He  sympathized  with  Katy  more  than  he 
was  willing  to  acknowledge,  and  wondered 
how  far  Mr.  Craven  would  see  fit  to  exercise 


44  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

the  authority  of  a  step-father.  He  meant  to 
treat  him  with  the  respect  due  to  his  mother's 
husband,  but  to  regard  him  as  a  father  was 
very  repugnant  to  him.  But  he  must  be 
guided  by  circumstances,  and  he  earnestly 
hoped  that  he  would  be  able  to  live  peacefully 
and  harmoniously  with  Mr.  Craven. 

Days  passed,  and  at  length  Frank  received 
a  dispatch,  announcing  the  return  home. 

"  They  will  be  home  to-night,  Katy,"  he 
said. 

"  I'll  be  glad  to  see  your  mother,  shure," 
said  Katy,  "  but  I  wish  that  man  wasn't 
comin'  wid  her." 

"  But  we  know  he  is,  and  we  must  treat 
him  with  respect." 

"  I  don't  feel  no  respect  for  him." 

"  You  must  not  show  your  feelings,  then, 
for  my  mother's  sake." 

At  five  o'clock  the  stage  deposited  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Craven  at  the  gate. 

Frank  ran  to  his  mother,  and  was  folded 
in  her  embrace.  Then  he  turned  to  Mr. 
Craven,  who  was  standing  by,  with  his  usual 
smile,  showing  his  white  teeth. 


MR.  CRAVEN'S  RETURN.  45 

"  I  hope  you  have  had  a  pleasant  journey, 
sir,"  he  said. 

"  Thank  you,  Frank,  it  has  been  very 
pleasant,  but  we  are  glad  to  get  home,  are  we 
not,  my  dear  ?" 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Mrs.  Craven,  thank 
fully,  and  she  spoke  the  truth  ;  for  though 
Mr.  Craven  had  been  all  attention  (he  had 
not  yet  thought  it  prudent  to  show  himself  in 
his  true  colors),  there  being  no  tie  of  affec 
tion  between  them,  she  had  grown  inexpres 
sibly  weary  of  the  soft  voice  and  artificial 
smile  of  her  new  husband,  and  had  yearned 
for  the  companionship  of  Frank,  and  even 
her  faithful  handmaiden,  Katy  O'Grady,  who 
was  standing  on  the  lawn  to  welcome  her, 
and  only  waiting  till  Frank  had  finished  his 
welcome. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Katy,"  said  her  mistress. 

"  I'm  well,  mum,  thankin'  you  for  askin', 
and  I'm  mighty  glad  to  see  you  back." 

"  I  hope  you  are  glad  to  see  me  also,  Ka 
ty,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  but  his  soft  voice  and 
insinuating  smile  didn't  melt  the  hostility  of 
Miss  O'Grady. 


46  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"I'm  glad  you've  brought  the  mistress 
home  safe,"  she  said,  with  a  low  bow  ;  "  we've 
missed  her  from  morning  till  night,  sure ; 
haven't  we,  Master  Frank  ?" 

"  I  see  she  isn't  my  friend,"  thought  Mr. 
Craven.  "  She'd  better  change  her  tune,  or 
she  won't  stay  long  in  my  house." 

He  had  already  begun  to  think  of  himself 
as  the  sole  proprietor  of  the  establishment,  and 
his  wife  as  an  unimportant  appendage. 

"  I  hope  you  have  some  supper  for  us, 
Katy,"  said  he,  not  choosing  at  present  to  be 
tray  his  feelings,  "  for  I  am  quite  sure  Mrs. 
Craven  and  myself  have  a  good  appetite." 

"  Mrs.  Craven !"  repeated  Katy,  in  pre 
tended  ignorance.  "  Oh,  you  mean  the  mistress, 


sure." 


"  Of  course  I  do,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  with  a 
frown,  for  once  betraying  himself. 

"Supper  is  all  ready,  ma'am,"  said  Katy, 
turning  to  Mrs.  Craven.  "  It'll  be  ready  as 
soon  as  you've  took  off  your  things." 

When  they  sat  down  to  the  table,  Frank 
made  a  little  mistake.  He  had  always  been 
accustomed  to  sit  at  the  head  of  the  table,  op- 


ME.  CRAVEN'S  RETURN.  47 

posite  his  mother,  and  on  the  frequent  occa 
sions  of  Mr.  Craven's  taking  a  meal  there 
during  the  engagement,  the  latter  had  taken 
the  visitor's  place  at  the  side. 

So  to-night,  without  thinking  of  the  latter's 
new  relations  to  him,  Frank  took  his  old 
place.  Mr.  Craven  noticed  it,  and  soft  and 
compliant  as  he  was,  he  determined  to  assert 
his  position  at  once.  "  I  believe  that  is  my 
place,"  he  said,  with  an  unpleasant  smile. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  pardon,"  said  Frank,  his  face 
flushing. 

"  You  forgot,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Craven, 
still  smiling. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You'll  soon  get  used  to  the  change,"  said 
his  step-father,  as  he  seated  himself  in  the 
chair  Frank  had  relinquished. 

Mrs.  Craven  looked  a  little  uncomfortable. 
She  began  to  realize  that  she  had  introduced 
a  stranger  into  the  family,  and  that  this  would 
interfere  to  a  considerable  extent  with  their 
old  pleasant  way  of  living. 

No  one  seemed  inclined  to  talk  except  Mr. 
Craven.  He  seemed  disposed  to  be  sociable, 


48  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

and  passed  from  one  subject  to  another,  re 
gardless  of  the  brief  answers  he  received. 

"  Well,  Frank,  and  how  have  you  got  along 
since  we  were  away  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Very  well,  sir." 

"  And  you  haven't  missed  us  then  ?" 

"  I  have  missed  my  mother,  and  should 
have  missed  you,"  he  added  politely,  "  if  you 
had  been  accustomed  to  live  here." 

"  And  how  isPompey?"  asked  Mr.  Craven, 
again  showing  his  teeth. 

'*  The  same  as  usual.  I  wonder  he  was  not 
out  on  the  lawn  to  receive  you  and  my 
mother." 

"  I  hope  he  wouldn't  receive  me  in  the  same 
way  as  he  did  once,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  again 
displaying  his  teeth. 

"No  danger,  sir.  He  didn't  know  you  then." 

"  That's  true,  but  I  will  take  care  that  he 
knows  me  now,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  softly. 

"  I  think  he  will  remember  you,  sir ;  he  is 
a  good  dog,  and  very  peaceable  unless  he 
thinks  there  are  improper  persons  about." 

"  I  hope  he  didn't  think  me  an  improper 
person,"  said  Mr.  Craven. 


MR.  CRAVEN'S  RETURN.  49 

"  No  fear,  sir." 

Frank  wondered  why  Mr.  Craven  should 
devote  so  much  time  to  Pompey,  but  he  was 
destined  to  be  enlightened  very  soon. 


50  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   DIFFICULTY  OF   KILLING  A  DOG. 

IF  Frank  supposed  that  Mr.  Craven  had 
forgotten  or  forgiven  Pompey's  attack 
upon  him,  he  was  mistaken.  Within  a  week 
after  Mr.  Craven  had  been  established  as  a 
permanent  member  of  the  household,  Katy, 
looking  out  of  the  kitchen  window,  saw  him 
advancing  stealthily  to  a  corner  of  the  back 
yard  with  a  piece  of  raw  meat  in  his  hand. 
He  dropped  it  on  the  ground,  and  then,  with 
a  stealthy  look  around,  he  withdrew  hastily. 

"What  is  he  doin',  sure?"  said  the  aston 
ished  Katy  to  herself;  then,  with  a  flash  of 
intelligence,  she  exclaimed,  "  I  know  what  he 
manes,  the  dirty  villain  !  The  meat  is  p'isoned, 
and  it's  put  there  to  kill  the  dog.  But  he 
shan't  do  it,  not  if  Katy  O'Grady  can  prevint 
him." 

The  resolute  handmaid  rushed  to  the  pan- 


THE  DIFFICULTY  OF  KILLING  A  DOG.  51 

try,  cut  off  a  piece  of  the  meat  meant  for  the 
morrow's  breakfast,  and  carrying  it  out  into  the 
yard,  was  able,  unobserved  by  Mr.  Craven,  to 
substitute  it  for  the  piece  he  had  dropped. 
This  she  brought  into  the  kitchen,  and  lifting 
it  to  her  nose,  smelled  it.  It  might  have  been 
Katy's  imagination,  but  she  thought  she  de 
tected  an  uncanny  smell. 

"It's  p'isoned,  sure!"  she  said.  "  I  smell 
it  plain  ;  but  it  shan't  harm  poor  Pomp !  I'll 
put  it  where  it'll  never  do  any  harm." 

She  wrapped  it  in  a  paper,  and  carrying  it 
out  into  the  garden,  dug  a  hole  in  which  she 
deposited  it. 

"  Won't  the  ould  villain  be  surprised  when 
he  sees  the  dog  alive  and  well  to  morrow 
morning?"  she  said  to  herself,  with  exulta 
tion. 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  Mr.  Craven,  from  an 
upper  window,  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
the  dog  greedily  eating  what  he  supposed 
would  be  his  last  meal  on  earth. 

"  That'll  fix  him!"  he  muttered,  smiling 
viciously.  "  He  won't  attack  me  again  very 
soon.  Young  impudence  will  never  know 


52  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

what  hurt  the  brute.  That's  the  way  I  mean 
to  dispose  of  ray  enemies." 

Probably  Mr.  Craven  did  not  mean  exactly 
what  might  be  inferred  from  his  remarks,  but 
he  certainly  intended  to  revenge  himself 
on  all  who  were  unwise  enough  to  oppose 
him. 

Mr.  Craven  watched  Pompey  till  he  had 
consumed  the  last  morsel  of  the  meat,  and 
then  retired  from  the  window,  little  guessing 
that  his  scheme  had  been  detected  and  baffled. 

The  next  morning  he  got  up  earlier  than 
usual,  on  purpose  to  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  his  four-footed  enemy  stretched  out 
stiff  and  stark.  What  was  his  astonishment 
to  see  the  dog  jumping  over  a  stick  at  the 
command  of  his  young  master.  Had  he  sud 
denly  seen  Pompey's  ghost  (supposing  dogs 
to  have  ghosts),  he  could  scarcely  have  been 
more  astonished  or  dismayed. 

"  Goodness  gracious !  that  dog  must  have 
a  cast-iron  constitution  !"  he  said  to  him 
self.  "  There  was  enough  strychnine  on  that 
meat  to  kill  ten  men.  I  don't  understand  it 
at  all." 


THE  DIFFICULTY  OF  KILLING  A  DOG.  53 

"  He  looks  as  if  his  grandmother  had  died 
and  left  him  nothin'  at  all  in  her  will,"  said 
Katy  to  herself,  slyly  watching  him  out  of  the 
window.  "The  ould  villain's  disappinted  sure, 
and  it's  Katy  O'Grady  he's  got  to  thank  for 
it,  if  he  only  knew  it." 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Frank,  for  the 
first  time  noticing  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Craven. 

"  Good  morning,  Frank,"  replied  his  step 
father,  opening  his  mouth  with  his  customary 
smile.  "  Pompey  seems  lively  this  morning." 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  am  teaching  him  to  jump 
over  this  stick." 

"  Good  dog  !"  said  Mr.  Craven,  patting  him 
softly. 

"  Oh.  the  ould  hypocrite  !"  ejaculated  Katy, 
who  had  slyly  opened  the  window  a  trifle  and 
heard  what  he  said.  "  He  tries  to  p'ison  the 
poor  creeter,  and  thin  calls  him  good  dog." 

Mr.  Craven  meanwhile  was  surveying 
Pompey  curiously. 

"  I  certainly  saw  him  eat  the  meat,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "  and  I  am  sure  it  was  tainted 
with  a  deadly  poison.  Yet  here  the  dog  is 


54  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

alive  and  well,  after  devouring  every  morsel 
of  it.  It  is  certainly  the  most  curious  case  I 
ever  heard  of." 

Mr.  Craven  went  into  the  house,  and  turned 
to  the  article  on  strychnine  in  an  encyclopaB- 
dia,  but  the  statements  he  there  found  cor 
roborated  his  previously  formed  opinion  as 
to  the  deadly  character  and  great  strength  of 
the  poison.  Pompey  must  certainly  be  an 
extraordinary  dog.  Mr.  Craven  was  puz 
zled. 

Meanwhile  Katy  said  to  herself: 

"Shall  I  tell  Master  Frank  what  Mr. 
Craven  tried  to  do  ?  Not  yit.  I'll  wait  a  bit, 
and  while  I'm  waitin'  I'll  watch.  He  don't 
suspect  that  Katy  O'Grady's  eyes  are  on  him, 
the  villain !" 

It  may  not  be  considered  suitable  generally 
for  a  maid-of-all-work  to  speak  of  her  em 
ployer  as  a  villain ;  but  then  Katy  had  some 
grounds  for  her  use  of  this  term,  and  being  a 
lady  very  decided  in  her  language,  it  is  not 
singular  that  such  should  have  been  her 
practice. 

Notwithstanding  the  apparent  superiority 


THE  DIFFICULTY  OF  KILLING  A  DOG.  55 

of  Pompey's  constitution  to  the  deadliest 
poison,  Mr.  Craven's  murderous  intent  was 
by  no  means  laid  aside.  He  concluded  to  try 
another  method  of  getting  him  out  of  the 
way.  He  had  a  pistol  in  his  trunk,  and  he 
resolved  to  see  if  Pompey  was  bullet-proof  as 
well  as  poison-proof. 

Three  days  later,  therefore,  when  Frank 
was  at  school,  and  Mrs.  Craven  was  in  attend 
ance  at  the  house  of  a  neighbor,  at  a  meeting 
of  the  village  sewing-circle,  Mr.  Craven 
slipped  the  pistol  into  his  pocket  and  repaired 
to  the  back  yard,  where  Pornpey,  as  he  antici 
pated,  was  stretched  out  in  the  sun,  having  a 
comfortable  nap. 

"  Pompey/'  said  Mr.  Craven,  in  a  low  tone, 
"  come  here.  Good  dog." 

Pompey  walked  up,  and,  grateful  for  atten 
tion,  began  to  fawn  upon  the  man  who  sought 
to  lure  him  to  death. 

"  Good  dog  !  Fine  fellow  !"  repeated  Mr. 
Craven,  stroking  him. 

Pompey  seemed  to  be  gratefully  apprecia 
tive  of  the  kindness. 

Low  and  soft  as  were  his  tones — for  he  did 


56  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

not  wish  to  attract  any  attention — Mr.  Craven 
was  overheard.  Katy  O'Grady's  ears  were 
sharp,  and  at  the  first  sound  she  drew  near 
to  the  window,  where,  herself  unobserved,  she 
was  an  eye  and  ear  witness  of  Mr.  Craven's 
blandishments. 

"  What  is  the  ould  villain  doin'  now  ?"  she 
said  to  herself.  "  Is  he  going  to  thry  p'isonin' 
him  again  ?" 

But  no  piece  of  meat  was  produced.  Mr. 
Craven  had  other  intentions. 

"  Come  here,  Pompey,"  said  he,  soothingly  ; 
"  follow  me,  sir." 

So  saying,  he  rose  and  beckoned  the  dog  to 
follow  him. 

Pompey  rose,  stretching  his  limbs,  and 
obediently  trotted  after  his  deadly  foe. 

"  Where's  he  takin'  him  to  ?"  thought  Katy. 
"  He  manes  mischief,  I'll  be  bound.  The  mis- 
thress  is  gone,  and  Master  Frank's  gone,  and 
he  thinks  there  ain't  nobody  to  interfere. 
Katy  O'Grady,  you  must  go  after  him  and 
see  what  he's  up  to." 

Katy  was  in  the  midst  of  her  work,  but  she 
didn't  stop  for  that.  She  had  in  her  hand  a 


THE  DIFFICULTY  OF  KILLING  A  DOG.  57 

glass  tumbler,  which  she  had  been  in  the  act 
of  wiping,  but  she  didn't  think  to  put  it  down. 
Throwing  her  apron  over  her  head,  she  fol 
lowed  Mr.  Craven  at  a  little  distance.  He 
made  his  way  into  a  field  in  the  rear  of  the 
house.  She  went  in  the  same  direction,  but  on 
the  other  side  of  a  stone  wall  which  divided  it 
from  a  neighboring  field.  From  time  to  time 
she  could  catch  glimpses,  through  the  loosely 
laid  rocks,  of  her  employer,  and  she  could 
distinctly  hear  what  he  was  saying. 

"  My  friend  Pompey,"  he  said,  with  a  smile 
full  of  deadly  meaning,  "  you  are  going  to  your 
death,  though  you  don't  know  it.  That  was 
a  bad  job  for  you  when  you  attacked  me,  my 
four-footed  friend.  You  won't  be  likely  to 
trouble  me  much  longer." 

"  What's  he  going  to  do  to  him?  "  thought 
Katy  ;  "  it's  not  p'ison,  for  he  hasn't  got  any 
meat,  May  be  it's  shoot-in'  him  he  manes." 

Mr.  Craven  went  on. 

"  Poison  doesn't  seem  to  do  you  any  harm, 
but  I  fancy  you  can't  stand  powder  and  ball 
quite  so  well." 

"  Yes,  he's  goin'  to  shoot  him.     What  will 


58  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

I  do?"  thought  Katy.  "I'm  afraid  I  can't 
save  the  poor  creetur's  life." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Craven  had  got  so  far  that 
he  considered  it  very  unlikely  that  the  report 
of  the  pistol  would  he  heard  at  the  house.  He 
stopped  short,  and,  with  a  look  of  triumphant 
malice,  drew  the  pistol  from  his  pocket. 
Pompey  stood  still,  and  looked  up  in  his  face. 

"  How  can  he  shoot  the  poor  creetur',  and 
him  lookin'  up  at  him  so  innocent  ?"  thought 
Katy.  "  What  will  I  do  ?  Oh,  I  know— I'll 
astonish  him  a  little." 

Mr.  Craven  was  just  pointing  the  pistol  at 
Pompey,  when  Katy  flung  the  tumbler  with 
force  against  his  hat,  which  rolled  off.  In  his 
fright  at  the  unexpected  attack,  the  pistol 
went  off,  hut  its  contents  were  lodged  in  a  tree 
near  by,  and  Pompey  was  unhurt. 

Mr.  Craven  looked  around  him  with  startled 
eyes,  but  he  could  not  see  Katy  crouching  be 
hind  the  wall,  nor  did  he  understand  from 
what  direction  the  missile  had  come. 


MISS  O'GEADY'S  VICTORY.  59 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MISS  O'GRADY'S  VICTORY. 

ROUGHING  behind  the  stone  wall,  Katy 
\J  enjoyed  the  effect  of  what  she  had  done. 
She  particularly  enjoyed  the  bewildered  look 
of  Mr.  Craven,  who,  bare-headed,  looked  on 
this  side  and  oil  that,  unable  to  conjecture  who 
had  thrown  the  missile. 

Pompey,  unconscious  of  the  danger  he  had 
escaped,  walked  up  to  the  tumbler  and  smelt 
of  it.  This  attracted  the  attention  of  Mr. 
Craven,  who  stooped  and  picked  it  up.  His 
bewilderment  increased.  If  it  had  been  a 
stone,  he  would  have  understood  better,  but 
how  a  tumbler  should  have  found  its  way  here 
as  a  missile  was  incomprehensible. 

It  slowly  dawned  upon  him  that  the  person 
who  threw  it  must  be  somewhere  near.  Then 
again,  on  examining  it  further,  he  began 
to  suspect  that  it  was  one  of  his  wife's  turn- 


60  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

biers,  and  he  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  it 
was  Frank  who  threw  it. 

"  If  it  is  he,  I'll  wring  his  neck !"  he 
murmured,  revengefully.  "  I  mean  to  find 
out/' 

"  Pompey,"  he  said,  calling  the  dog,  "  do 
you  see  this  tumbler?" 

Pompey  wagged  his  tail. 

"  Who  threw  it  ?" 

Pompey  looked  up,  as  if  for  instructions. 

"  Go  find  him !"  said  Mr.  Craven,  in  a  tone 
of  command. 

The  dog  seemed  to  understand,  for  he  put 
his  nose  to  the  ground  and  began  to  run  along, 
as  if  in  search. 

"Oh,  murther!  What  if  he  finds  me?" 
thought  Katy,  crouching  a  little  lower.  "  Won't 
he  be  mad,  jist?" 

Katy  might  have  crawled  away  unobserved, 
very  possibly,  if  she  had  started  as  soon  as 
the  missile  was  thrown.  Now,  that  dog  and 
man  were  both  on  the  lookout,  escape  was  cut 
off. 

"Will  he  find  me?"  Katy  asked  herself, 
with  some  anxiety. 


MISS  O'GRADY'S  VICTORY.  61 

The  question  was  soon  answered. 

Pompey  jumped  over  the  wall,  and  a  joyous 
bark  announced  his  discovery.  He  knew 
Katy,  and  seemed  to  fancy  that  she  had  con 
cealed  herself  in  joke.  He  jumped  upon  her, 
and  wagged  his  tail  intelligently,  as  if  to  say  : 

"  You  see,  I've  found  you  out,  after  all." 

Mr.  Craven  hurried  to  the  wall,  eagerly  ex 
pecting  to  detect  Frank  in  the  person  con 
cealed.  He  started  back  in  astonishment  as 
Katy  O'Grady  rose  and  faced  him.  Then  he 
became  wrathful,  as  he  realized  that  his  own 
hired  servant  had  had  the  audacity  to  fling  a 
tumbler  at  his  hat. 

"  What  brings  you  out  here,  Katy  ?"  he  de 
manded,  with  a  frown. 

"  Shure,  sir,"  said  Katy,  nonchalantly,  "  I 
was  tired  wid  stayin'  in  the  hot  kitchen, 
and  I  thought  I'd  come  out  and  take  the  air 
jist." 

"  And  so  you  neglected  the  work." 

"  The  worruk  will  be  done;  niver  you  mind 
about  that." 

"  Did  you  fling  this  tumbler  at  my  head  ?" 
demanded  Mr.  Craven,  sternly. 


62  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Let  me  look  at  it,  sir." 

Katy  looked  at  it  scrutinizingly,  and  made 
answer : 

"  Very  likely,  sir." 

"  Don't  you  know?" 

"  I  wouldn't  swear  it  was  the  same  one, 
sir,  but  it  looks  like  it." 

"  Then  you  admit  throwing  a  tumbler  at 
my  head,  do  you  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Didn't  you  say  you  did  just  now  ?" 

"  I  threw  it  at  your  hat." 

"  It  is  the  same  thing.  How  came  you  to 
have  the  cursed  impudence  to  do  such  a 
thing?"  asked  her  master,  wrathfully. 

"  Because  you  was  goin'  to  shoot  the  dog," 
said  Katy,  coolly. 

"Suppose  I  was,  is  it  any  business  of  yours  ?" 

"  The  dog  doesn't  belong  to  you,  Mr.  Cra 
ven.  It  belongs  to  Master  Frank." 

"  I  don't  think  it  expedient  for  him  to  keep 
such  an  ill-natured  brute  around." 

"  He  calls  you  a  brute,  Pomp,"  said  Katy, 
caressing  Pompey — "  you  that's  such  a  good 
dog.  It's  a  shame  !" 


MISS  O'GEADY'S  VICTORY.  63 

"  Catherine/7  said  Mr.  Craven,  with  out 
raged  dignity,  "  your  conduct  is  very  im 
proper.  You  have  insulted  me." 

"  By  the  powers,  how  did  I  do  it  ?"  asked 
Katy,  with  an  affectation  of  innocent  wonder. 

"  It  was  an  insult  to  throw  that  tumbler  at 
my  head.  I  might  order  the  constable  to 
arrest  you." 

"I'd  like  to  see  him  thry  it!"  said  Katy, 
putting  her  arms  akimbo  in  such  a  resolute 
fashion  that  Mr.  Craven  involuntarily  stepped 
back  slightly. 

"  Are  you  aware  that  I  am  your  master  ?" 
continued  Mr.  Craven,  severely. 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  answered  Katy,  promptly. 

"  You  are  a  servant  in  my  house." 

"  No,  I'm  not.  The  house  don't  belong  to 
you  at  all,  sir.  It  belongs  to  my  mistress  and 
Master  Frank." 

"  That's  the  same  thing.  According  to  the 
law,  I  am  in  control  of  their  property,"  said 
Mr.  Craven,  resolved  upon  a  master-stroke 
which,  he  felt  confident,  would  overwhelm 
his  adversary.  "  After  the  great  impro 
priety  of  which  you  have  been  guilty  this 


64  FKANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

afternoon,  I  discharge  you  from  my  employ 
ment." 

"  You  discharge  me !"  exclaimed  Katy, 
with  incredulous  scorn. 

"  I  discharge  you,  and  I  desire  you  to  leave 
the  house  to-morrow." 

"  You  discharge  me  !"  repeated  Katy,  with 
a  ringing  laugh.  "  That's  a  good  one." 

Mr.  Craven's  cadaverous  face  colored  with 
anger. 

"  If  you  don't  go  quietly,  I'll  help  you  out," 
he  added,  incautiously. 

"  Come  on,  then,"  said  Katy,  assuming 
a  warlike  attitude.  "  Come  on,  then,  and 
we'll  see  whether  you  can  put  out  Katy 
O'Grady." 

"  Your  impudence  will  not  avail  you.  I 
am  determined  to  get  rid  of  you." 

"  And  do  ye  think  I'm  goin'  to  lave  the 
house,  and  my  ould  misthress,  and  Master 
Frank,  at  the  orders  of  such  an  interloper  as 
you,  Mr.  Craven  ?"  she  cried,  angrily. 

"  I  don't  propose  to  multiply  words  about 
it,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  with  an  assumption 
of  dignity.  "If  you  had  behaved  well, 


MISS  O'GRADY'S  VICTORY.  65 

you  might  have  stayed.  Now  you  must 
go." 

"  Must  I  ?"  sniffed  Katy,  indignantly. 
"MustI,  indade?" 

"  Yes,  you  must,  and  the  less  fuss  you  make 
about  it  the  better." 

Mr.  Craven  supposed  that  he  had  the  de 
cided  advantage,  and  that  Katy,  angry  as  she 
was,  would  eventually  succumb  to  his  au 
thority.  But  he  did  not  know  the  indepen 
dent  spirit  of  Catherine  O'Grady,  whose  will 
was  quite  as  resolute  as  his  own. 

"And  ye  think  I'm  goin*  at  your  word — I 
that's  been  in  the  family  since  Master  Frank 
was  a  baby  ?" 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,  Katy,"  said  Mr.  Cra 
ven,  in  triumphant  magnanimity.  "  But  I 
cannot  permit  a  servant  to  remain  in  my 
house  who  is  guilty  of  the  gross  impropriety 
of  insulting  me." 

"I  know  why  you  want  to  get  rid  of  me," 
said  Katy,  nodding  her  head  vigorously. 

"  Why  ?"  asked  Craven,  with  some  curi 
osity. 

"  You  want  to  p'ison  the  dog." 

5 


66  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

Mr.  Craven  started.  How  had  his  secret 
leaked  out? 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Mane !  I  mane  that  I  saw  you  lavin'  the 
p'isoned  mate  for  the  dog  three  days  agone, 
and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me  he'd  have  eaten 
it,  and  the  poor  creetur  would  be  stiff  in 
death." 

"  He  did  eat  it.  I  saw  him,"  said  Mr.  Cra 
ven,  hastily. 

"  No,  he  didn't.  It  wasn't  the  same  mate  !" 
said  Katy,  triumphantly. 

"  What  was  it,  then  ?" 

"  It  was  a  piece  I  cut  off  and  carried  out  to 
him,"  said  Katy.  "The  other  I  wrapped  up 
in  a  piece  of  paper,  and  buried  it  in  the  field." 

Mr.  Craven's  eyes  were  opened.  Pompey's 
cast-iron  constitution  was  explained.  After 
all,  he  was  not  that  natural  phenomenon 
which  Mr.  Craven  had  supposed  him  to  be. 
But  he  was  angry  at  Katy's  interference  no 
less. 

"Say  no  more,"  he  said.  "You  must  go. 
You  have  no  right  to  interfere  with  my 
plans." 


MISS  O'GKADY'S  VICTORY.  67 

"Say  no  more?  Won't  I  be  tellin'  the 
raisthress  and  Master  Frank  how  you  tried  to 
kill  the  poor  dog,  first  with  p'ison,  and  nixt 
wid  a  pistol  ?" 

There  was  something  in  this  speech  that 
made  Mr.  Craven  hesitate  and  reflect. 

He  knew  that  Katy's  revelation  would  pro 
voke  Frank,  and  make  him  an  enemy,  and  he 
feared  the  boy's  influence  on  his  mother,  par 
ticularly  as  he  was  concocting  plans  for  in 
ducing  his  wife  to  place  some  of  her  money 
in  his  hand  under  pretext  of  a  new  invest 
ment.  He  must  be  careful  not  to  court  hos 
tile  influences,  and  after  all,  he  resolved  to 
bear  with  Katy,  much  as  he  disliked  her. 

"On  the  whole,  Katy,"  he  said,  after  a 
pause,  "  I  will  accept  your  apology,  and  you 
may  stay." 

"  My  apology !"  said  Katy,  in  astonish 
ment, 

"  Yes,  your  explanation.  I  see  your  mo 
tives  were  good,  and  I  will  think  no  more 
about  it.  You  had  better  not  mention  this 
matter  to  Mrs.  Craven  or  Frank,  as  it  might 
disturb  them." 


68  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  And  won't  you  try  to  kill  Pomp  agin  ?" 
asked  Katy. 

"  No ;  I  dislike  dogs,  especially  as  they 
are  apt  to  run  mad,  but  as  Frank  is  attached 
to  Pompey,  I  won't  interfere.  You  had 
better  take  this  tumbler  and  wash  it,  as  it  is 
uninjured." 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  Katy,  who  felt  that 
she  had  gained  a  victory,  although  Mr.  Craven 
assumed  that  it  was  his. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  are  so  devoted  to  your 
mistress,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  who  had  assumed 
his  old  suavity.  "  I  shall  propose  to  her  to 
increase  your  wages." 

"  He's  a  mighty  quare  man  !"  thought  the 
bewildered  Katy,  as  she  hurried  back  to  her 
work,  followed  by  Pompey. 


FRANK  IS  OBSTINATE.  69 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FRANK    IS    OBSTINATE. 

MR.  CRAVEN  had  as  yet  gained  nothing 
from  his  marriage.  He  was  itching  to 
get  possession  of  his  wife's  property.  Then 
his  next  step  would  be  Frank's  more  consid 
erable  property.  He  was  beginning  to  be 
low  in  pocket,  and  in  the  course  of  a  month 
or  so  Mr.  Green's  note  for  six  hundred  dollars 
would  fall  due.  He  knew  enough  of  that 
estimable  gentleman  to  decide  that  it  must  be 
met,  and,  of  course,  out  of  his  wife's  money. 

"My  dear,"  he  said  one  day,  after  break 
fast,  Frank  being  on  his  way  to  school,  "  I 
believe  I  told  you  before  our  marriage  that  I 
had  twenty  thousand  dollars  invested  in  Lake 
Superior  mines." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Craven,  I  remember  it." 

"  It  is  a  very  profitable  investment,"  con- 


70  FEANK  HUXTER'S  PERIL. 

tinued  her  husband.   "  What  per  cent,  do  you 
think  it  pays  me  ?" 

"  Ten  per  cent.,"  guessed  Mrs.  Craven. 

"  More  than  that.  During  the  last  year  it 
has  paid  me  twenty  per  cent." 

"That  is  a  great  deal,"  said  his  wife,  in 
surprise. 

"  To  be  sure  it  is,  but  not  at  all  uncom 
mon.  You,  I  suppose,  have  not  got  more 
than  seven  or  eight  per  cent,  for  your 
money  ?" 

"  Only  six  per  cent." 

Mr.  Craven  laughed  softly,  as  if  to  say, 
"  What  a  simpleton  you  must  be  !" 

"  I  didn't  know  about  these  investments," 
said  his  wife.  "  I  don't  know  much  about 
business." 

"  No,  no.  I  suppose  not.  Few  women  do. 
Well,  my  dear,  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is 
to  empower  me  to  invest  your  money  for  you 
in  future." 

"  If  you  think  it  best,"  said  Mrs.  Craven. 

"  Certainly ;  it  is  my  business  to  invest 
money.  And,  by  the  way,  the  income  of 
Frank's  property  is  paid  to  you,  I  believe." 


FRANK  IS  OBSTINATE.  71 

"Yes." 

"  He  does  not  come  into  possession  till 
twenty-one." 

"  That  was  his  father's  direction." 

"  And  a  very  proper  one.  He  intended  that 
you  should  have  the  benefit  of  the  income, 
which  is,  of  course,  a  good  deal  more  than 
Frank  needs  till  he  comes  of  age." 

"  I  thought  perhaps  I  ought  to  save  up  the 
surplus  for  Frank,"  said  Mrs.  Craven,  hesi 
tating. 

"That  is  not  necessary.  Frank  is  amply 
provided  for.  He  might  be  spoiled  by  too 
much  money." 

"  I  don't  think  so.  Frank  is  an  excellent 
boy,"  said  his  mother,  warmly. 

"  So  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Craven.  "  He  has  a 
noble,  generous  disposition,  and  for  that  very 
reason  is  more  liable  to  be  led  astray." 

"  I  hope  he  won't  be  led  astray.  I  should 
feel  wretched  if  I  thought  anything  would 
befall  him,"  said  his  mother,  shuddering. 

"  We  will  look  after  him  ;  we  will  see  that 
he  goes  straight,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  cheerfully. 
"  But  I  wanted  to  suggest,  my  dear,  that  it 


72  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

would  be  proper  that  I  should  be  appointed 
joint  guardian  with  you/' 

"I  am  not  sure  whether  Frank  will  like 
it,"  said  his  mother,  who  was  aware  that 
Frank,  though  scrupulously  polite  to  his  step 
father,  had  no  cordial  liking  or  respect  for 
him. 

"  As  to  that,  my  dear,  I  count  upon  you  ex 
erting  your  influence  in  the  matter.  If  you 
recommend  it  he  will  yield." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  just  as  well  as  it  is?" 
said  Mrs.  Craven,  hesitatingly.  "  Of  course, 
we  shall  go  to  you  for  counsel  and  advice  in 
anything  important." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  have  confidence  in 
me,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  with  an  injured  air. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  think  that,  Mr.  Craven," 
said  his  wife,  hastily. 

"How  can  I  help  it?  You  know  my  in 
terest  in  Frank,  yet  you  are  unwilling  to  have 
me  associated  in  the  guardianship." 

"I  didn't  say  I  objected.  I  said  Frank 
might." 

"  You  are  not  willing  to  urge  him  to  favor 
the  measure." 


FRANK  IS  OBSTINATE.  73 

"You  misunderstand  me.  Yes,  I  will," 
said  yielding  Mrs.  Craven. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Craven, 
with  one  of  his  most  unctuous  smiles.  "I  was 
quite  sure  you  would  do  me  justice  in  the  end. 
By  the  way,  what  disposition  is  made  of 
Frank's  property  if  he  does  not  live  to  come 
of  age?" 

"  You — you  don't  think  he  is  likely  to 
be  taken  away  ?"  said  Mrs.  Craven,  in  dis 
tress. 

"  You  are  a  goose,"  said  her  husband, 
laughing  softly.  "  Of  course  not.  But  then 
we  are  all  mortal.  Frank  is  strong,  and  will, 
I  hope,  live  to  smooth  our  dying  pillows.  But, 
of  course,  however  improbable,  the  contin 
gency  is  to  be  thought  of." 

"  I  believe  the  property  comes  to  me  in 
that  case,  but  I  am  sure  I  should  not  live  to 
enjoy  it." 

"My  dear,  don't  make  yourself  miserable 
about  nothing.  Our  boy  is  strong,  and  has 
every  prospect  of  reaching  old  age.  But  it 
is  best  to  understand  clearly  how  matters 
stand.  By  the  way,  you  need  not  say  any- 


74  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

thing  about  the  guardianship  to  him  till  I  tell 
you." 

Mrs.  Craven  not  only  complied  with  this 
request,  but  she  surrendered  to  Mr.  Craven 
the  entire  control  of  her  money  within  an 
hour.  She  raised  one  or  two  timid  objec 
tions,  but  these  were  overruled  by  her  hus 
band,  and  in  the  end  she  yielded.  Mr. 
Craven  was  now  in  funds  to  pay  the  note 
held  by  Job  Green,  and  this  afforded  him  no 
little  relief. 

A  few  evenings  later,  Frank  was  about  to 
take  his  cap  and  go  out,  when  Mr.  Craven 
stopped  him. 

"  Frank,"  he  said,  "  if  you  have  no  impor 
tant  engagement,  your  mother  and  I  desire 
to  speak  to  you  on  a  matter  of  some  conse 
quence." 

"  I  was  only  going  to  call  on  one  of  my 
friends,"  said  Frank.  "  I  will  defer  that  and 
hear  what  you  have  to  say." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  smiling 
sweetly.  "  I  wished  to  speak  to  you  on  the 
subject  of  your  property." 

"  Very  well,  sir." 


FEANK  IS  OBSTINATE.  75 

"Your  mother  is  your  guardian,  she  tells 
me." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  The  responsibilities  of  a  guardian  are 
very  great,"  proceeded  Mr.  Craven,  leaning 
back  upon  his  chair.  "  Naturally  there  are 
some  of  them  to  which  a  woman  cannot  at 
tend  as  well  as  a  man." 

Frank  began  to  understand  what  was 
corning,  and,  as  it  was  not  to  his  taste,  he  de 
termined  to  declare  himself  at  once. 

"  I  couldn't  have  a  better  guardian  than  my 
mother,"  he  said. 

"  Of  course  not.  (I  am  afraid  I  shall  find 
trouble  with  him,  thought  Mr.  Craven.)  Of 
course  not,  You  couldn't  possibly  find  any 
one  as  much  interested  in  your  welfare  as 
your  mother." 

"  Certainly  not,  sir." 

"  As  your  step-father,  I  naturally  feel  a 
strong  interest  in  you,  but  I  do  not  pretend 
to  have  the  same  interest  as  your  mother." 

"  I  never  expected  you  would,  sir,"  said 
Frank,  "  and  I  don't  want  you  to,"  he  added, 
to  himself. 


76  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  But  your  mother  is  not  used  to  business, 
and,  as  I  said,  the  responsibilities  of  a  guar 
dian  are  great." 

"  What  do  you  propose,  sir  ?"  asked  Frank, 
gazing  at  his  step-father  steadily.  "  Do  you 
recommend  me  to  change  guardians — to  give 
up  my  mother  ?" 

"  No,  by  no  means.  It  is  best  that  your 
mother  should  retain  the  guardianship." 

"  Then,  sir,  I  don't  quite  understand  what 
you  mean." 

"  I  mean  to  suggest  that  it  would  be  well 
for  another  to  be  associated  in  the  guardian 
ship,  who  might  relieve  your  mother  of  a  part 
of  her  cares  and  responsibilities." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  yourself,  sir,"  said 
Frank. 

"  Yes — ahem  !"  answered  Mr.  Craven, 
coughing  softly,  "as  your  step-father,  it  would 
naturally  occur  to  your  mind  that  I  am  the 
most  suitable  person.  Your  mother  thinks  as 
I  do." 

"  Do  you  want  Mr.  Craven  to  be  guardian 
with  you,  mother?"  asked  Frank,  turning  to 
his  mother. 


FRANK  IS  OBSTINATE.  77 

"  Mr.  Craven  thinks  it  best,"  said  his  mother, 
in  a  little  embarrassment.  "He  knows  more 
about  business  matters  than  I  do,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  he  is  right." 

Frank  understood  that  it  was  entirely  Mr. 
Craven's  idea,  and  something  made  it  very 
repugnant  to  him.  He  did  not  want  to  be 
under  the  control  of  that  man.  Though  be 
knew  nothing  to  his  disadvantage,  lie  dis 
trusted  him.  He  had  never  ceased  to  regret 
that  his  mother  married  him,  and  he  meant 
to  have  as  little  to  do  with  him  as  politeness 
would  permit. 

He  answered,  therefore : 

"  I  hope,  Mr.  Craven,  that  you  won't  be 
offended  if  I  say  that  I  don't  wish  any  change 
in  the  guardianship.  If  another  were  to  be 
added,  I  suppose  it  would  be  proper  that  you 
should  be  the  one,  but  I  am  content  with  my 
mother  as  guardian,  and  wish  no  other." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  with  a  soft 
ness  of  tone  which  by  no  means  accorded  with 
his  inward  rage,  "that  you  are  unmindful  of 
the  care  the  sole  guardianship  will  impose  on 
your  mother." 


78  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Has  it  been  much  care  for  you,  mother  ?" 
asked  Frank. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Craven,  hesitating, 
"  but  perhaps  it  may." 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Craven  will  always  be  ready 
to  give  you  advice  if  you  need  it,"  said  Frank, 
though  the  suggestion  was  not  altogether  to 
his  taste,  "  but  I  would  rather  have  you  only 
as  my  guardian." 

"Well,  let  us  drop  the  subject,"  said  Mr. 
Craven,  gayly.  "  As  you  say,  I  shall  always 
be  ready  to  advise,  if  called  upon.  Now,  my 
dear  Frank,  go  to  your  engagement,  I  won't 
detain  you  any  longer." 

But  when  Mr.  Craven  was  alone,  his  coun 
tenance  underwent  a  change. 

"  That  boy  is  a  thorn  in  my  side,"  he  mut 
tered,  with  compressed  lips.  "  Sooner  or  later, 
he  must  be  in  my  power,  and  his  fortune  un 
der  iny  control.  Patience,  Richard  Craven ! 
A  dull-witted  boy  cannot  defeat  your  plans !" 


A  STRANGER  APPEARS  ON  THE  SCENE.     79 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A    STRANGER    APPEARS    ON    THE   SCENE. 

TTOW  do  you  like  your  step-father^ 
JLL  Frank,"  asked  Ben  Cameron  as  the 
two  boys  were  walking  home  from  school  to 
gether. 

"  You  mean  Mr.  Craven  ?" 

"  Of  course.  He  is  your  step-father,  isn't 
he?" 

"  I  suppose  he  is,  but  I  don't  like  to  think 
of  him  in  that  way." 

"  Is  he  disagreeable,  then  ?" 

"  He  treats  me  well  enough,"  said  Frank, 
slowly ;  u  but,  for  all  that,  I  dislike  him.  His 
appearance,  his  manners,  his  soft  voice  and 
stealthy  ways  are  all  disagreeable  to  me.  As 
he  is  my  mother's  husband,  I  wish  I  could 
like  him,  but  I  can't." 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  it,  Frank.  I  don't  fancy 
him  myself." 


80  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Somehow,  everything  seems  changed  since 
he  came.  He  seems  to  separate  my  mother 
from  me." 

"  Well,  Frank,  I  suppose  you  must  make 
the  best  of  it.  If  he  doesn't  interfere  with 
you,  that  is  one  good  thing.  Some  step-fathers 
would,  you  know." 

"  He  hasn't,  so  far ;  but  sometimes  I  fear 
that  he  will  in  the  future." 

"  Have  you  any  reason  for  thinking  so?" 

"A  day  or  two  since  he  called  me,  just  as 
I  was  leaving  the  house  to  come  and  see 
you,  and  asked  if  I  were  willing  to  have  him 
join  with  my  mother  as  my  guardian." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?" 

"  That  I  didn't  want  any  change.  He  said 
the  responsibility  was  too  great  for  a  woman." 

"  What  answer  did  you  make?" 

"  That  my  mother  could  get  as  much  help 
and  advice  as  she  needed,  even  if  she  were 
sole  guardian." 

"  Did  he  seem  angry  ?" 

"  Not  at  all.  He  turned  it  off  very  pleas 
antly,  and  said  he  would  not  detain  me  any 
longer." 


A  STEANGER  APPEARS  ON  THE  SCENE.  81 

"  Then  why  should  you  feel  uneasy  ?" 

"  I  think  there's  something  underhand 
about  him.  He  seems  to  me  like  a  cat  that 
purrs  and  rubs  herself  against  you,  but  has 
claws  concealed,  and  is  open  to  scratch  when 
she  gets  ready." 

Ben  laughed. 

"  The  comparison  does  you  credit,  Frank," 
said  he.  "  There's  something  in  it,  too.  Mr. 
Craven  is  like  a  cat — that  is,  in  his  ways  ;  but 
I  hope  he  won't  show  his  claws." 

"  When  he  does  I  shall  be  ready  for  him," 
said  Frank,  stoutly.  "  I  am  not  afraid  of 
him,  but  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  having  such 
a  person  in  the  family." 

They  had  arrived  at  this  point  in  the  con 
versation  when  they  were  met  by  a  tall  man, 
of  dark  complexion,  who  was  evidently  a 
stranger  in  the  village.  In  a  small  town  of 
two  thousand  inhabitants,] where  every  person 
is  known  to  every  other,  a  strange  face  at 
tracts  attention,  and  the  boys  regarded  this 
man  with  curiosity.  He  paused  as  they 
neared  him,  and,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other,  inquired  : 


82  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Can  you  direct  me  to  Mr.  Craven's 
office?'7 

The  two  boys  exchanged  glances. 

Frank  answered  : 

"  It  is  that  small  building  on  the  left-hand 
side  of  the  street,  but  I  am  not  sure  whether 
he  is  there  yet." 

Curious  to  know  how  the  boy  came  to 
know  so  much  of  Mr.  Craven's  movements, 
the  stranger  said  : 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  he  is  my  step-father." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  made  the 
statement,  and,  true  as  he  knew  it  to  be,  he 
made  it  with  rising  color  and  a  strange  re 
luctance. 

"  Oh,  indeed  !"  returned  the  stranger,  look 
ing  very  much  surprised.  "  He  is  your  step 
father  ?" 

"  Yes ;  he  married  my  mother,"  said  Frank, 
hurriedly. 

"Then  you  think  he  may  not  have  come 
to  the  office  yet  ?" 

"There  he  is,  just  opening  the  door,"  said 
Ben,  pointing  to  Mr.  Craven,  who,  unaware 


A  STRANGER  APPEARS  ON  THE  SCENE.  83 

of  the  interest  his  appearance  excited,  was 
just  opening  the  door  of  the  office,  in  which 
he  was  really  beginning  to  do  a  little  business. 
His  marriage  to  a  woman  of  property,  and 
the  reports  which  had  leaked  out  that  he  had 
a  competence  of  his  own,  had  inspired  a  de 
gree  of  confidence  in  him  which  before  had 
not  existed. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  stranger.    "  As  he 
is  in,  I  will  call  upon  him." 


84  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  X. 


A    CONSPIRACY    AGAINST    FRANK. 


S1 


*  *  he's  married  again,  the  sly  villain  !" 

muttered  the  stranger,  as,  after  leav 
ing  the  boys,  he  proceeded  on  his  way  to  Mr. 
Craven's  office.  "  That  will  he  good  news  for 
my  sister,  won't  it  ?  And  so  thai's  his  step 
son  ?  A  nice-looking,  well-dressed  hoy. 
Likely  Craven  has  feathered  his  nest,  and 
married  a  fortune.  If  so,  all  the  better.  I 
may  get  a  few  feathers  for  my  own  nest,  if  I 
work  my  cards  right." 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Craven  had  seated  himself 
at  an  office  table,  and  was  looking  over  a 
paper  of  instructions,  having  been  commis 
sioned  to  write  a  will  for  one  of  the  town's 
people.  He  had  drawn  out  a  printed  form, 
and  had  just  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink,  when 
a  knock  was  heard  at  the  outer  door  that 
opened  upon  the  street. 


A  CONSPIRACY  AGAINST  FRANK.  85 

"  I  suppose  it's  Mr.  Negley,  come  for  the 
will.  He'll  have  to  wait,"  thought  Craven, 
and  as  the  thought  passed  through  his  mind, 
he  said,  "Come  in  !" 

The  door  opened. 

He  mechanically  raised  his  eyes,  and  his 
glance  rested  upon  the  man  whom  we  have 
introduced  in  the  last  chapter. 

A  remarkable  change  came  over  Mr.  Cra 
ven's  face.  First  surprise,  then  palpable  dis 
may,  drove  the  color  from  his  cheeks,  and  he 
stood  up  in  silent  consternation. 

The  other  appeared  to  enjoy  the  sensation 
caused  by  his  arrival,  and  laughed. 

"  Why,  man,  you  look  as  if  I  were  a  ghost. 
No  such  thing.  I'm  alive  and  well,  and  de 
lighted  to  see  you  again,"  he  added,  signifi 
cantly.  "  By  Jove,  I've  had  hard  work  finding 
you,  but  here  I  am,  you  see." 

"  How — did — you — find — me?"  asked  Cra 
ven,  huskily. 

"  How  did  I  find  you  ?  Well,  I  got  upon 
your  tracks  in  New  York.  Never  mind  how, 
as  long  as  I  have  found  you.  Well,  have  you 
no  welcome  for  me  ?" 


86  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  asked  Mr. 
Craven,  sullenly. 

"  What  do  I  want  of  you  ?"  echoed  the 
other,  with  a  laugh.  "  Why,  considering  the 
relationship  between  us — " 

Mr.  Craven's  pallor  increased,  and  he 
shifted  his  position  uneasily. 

"  Considering  the  relationship  between  us, 
it  is  only  natural  that  I  should  want  to  see 
you." 

He  paused,  but  Mr.  Craven  did  not  offer 
any  reply. 

"  By  the  way,  your  wife  is  very  uneasy 
at  your  long  absence,"  continued  the  new 
comer,  fixing  his  eyes  steadily  upon  the  shrink 
ing  Craven. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  stop,  or  speak  lower !" 
exclaimed  Craven,  exhibiting  the  greatest 
alarm. 

"  Come,  now,  Craven,  is  any  allusion  to 
your  wife  so  disagreeable  ?  Considering 
that  she  is  my  sister,  it  strikes  me  that  I 
shall  have  something  to  say  on  that  sub- 
ject." 

"  Don't  allude  to  her,  Sharpley,"  said  the 


A  CONSPIRACY  AGAINST  FRANK.  87 

other,  doggedly.  "  I  shall  never  see  her 
again.  We — we  didn't  live  happily,  and  are 
better  apart.7' 

"  You  may  think  so,  but  do  you  think  I  am 
going  to  have  my  sister  treated  in  this  way — 
deserted  and  scorned  ?" 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  was  the  dogged  reply. 

"  You  can't?     Why  not?" 

And  the  man  addressed  as  Sharpley  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  his  brother-in-law. 

"  Why  do  you  come  here  to  torment  me  ?" 
said  Craven,  fiercely,  brought  to  bay.  "  Why 
can't  you  leave  me  alone?  Your  sister  is 
better  off  without  me.  I  never  was  a  model 
husband." 

"  That  is  where  you  are  right,  Craven ; 
but,  hark  you  !"  he  added,  bending  forward, 
"  do  you  think  we  are  going  to  stand  by  and 
do  nothing  while  you  are  in  the  enjoyment  of 
wealth  and  the  good  things  of  life?" 

"Wealth?  What  do  you  mean?"  stam 
mered  Craven. 

The  other  laughed  slightly. 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  a  mole?  Did  you 
suppose  I  wouldn't  discover  that  you  are  mar- 


88  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

ried  again,  and  that  your  marriage  has 
brought  you  money  ?" 

"  So  you  have  found  it  out?"  said  Mr.  Cra 
ven,  whose  worst  apprehensions  were  now 
confirmed. 

"  I  met  your  step-son  a  few  minutes  ago, 
and  he  directed  me  here." 

"Did  you  tell  him?"  asked  Craven,  in 
dismay. 

"  Tell  him  ?  No,  not  yet.  I  wanted  to  see 
you  first." 

"  I'm  glad  you  didn't.  He  doesn't  like  iuc. 
It  would  be  all  up  with  me  if  you  had." 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  Craven.  It  may 
not  be  so  bad  as  you  think.  We  may  be 
able  to  make  some  friendly  arrangement. 
Tell  me  about  it,  and  then  we'll  consult  to 
gether.  Only  don't  leave  anything  untold. 
Situated  as  we  are,  I  demand  your  entire  con 
fidence." 

Here  the  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Negley  ap 
peared. 

"  Have  you  finished  that  'ere  dokkyment, 
Mr.  Craven  ?"  asked  the  old-fashioned  farmer, 
to  whom  the  name  belonged. 


A  CONSPIRACY  AGAINST  FRANK.  89 

"  No,  Mr.  Negley,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  with 
his  customary  suavity,  "  not  yet,  I  am  sorry 
to  say.  I've  had  a  great  deal  to  do,  and  I 
am  even  now  consulting  with  a  client  on  an 
important  matter.  Could  you  wait  till  to- 


"  Sartain,  Mr.  Craven.  I  ain't  in  no  hurry. 
Only,  as  I  was  passing,  I  thought  I'd  just  in 
quire.  Good  mornin',  squire." 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Negley." 

"  So  you  are  in  the  lawyer's  line  again, 
Craven?"  said  Sharpley.  "You  are  turning 
to  good  account  that  eight  months  you  spent 
in  a  law  office  in  the  old  country?" 

"  Yes,  I  do  a  little  in  that  line." 

"  Now,  tell  me  all  about  this  affair  of  yours. 
I  don't  want  to  ruin  you.  May  he  we  can 
make  an  arrangement  that  will  be  mutually 
satisfactory." 

Thus  adjured,  and  incited  from  time  to 
time  by  questions  from  his  visitor,  Mr.  Craven 
unfolded  the  particulars  of  his  situation. 

"  Well,  the  upshot  of  it  is,  Craven,  that 
you've  feathered  your  nest,  and  made  yourself 
comfortable.  That's  all  very  well ;  but  it  seems 


90  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

to  me,  that  your  English  wife  has  some  rights 
in  the  matter." 

"  You  need  not  tell  her,"  said  Craven,  has 
tily.  "  What  good  will  it  do  ?" 

"  It  won't  do  you  any  good,  but  it  may  ben 
efit  her  and  me." 

"  How  can  it  benefit  '  her  and  me?'  How 
can  it  benefit  either  of  you,  if  I  am  found 
out,  and  obliged  to  flee  from  this  place  into 
penury  ?" 

"  Why,  not  exactly  in  that  way.  In  fact, 
I  may  feel  disposed  to  let  you  alone,  if  you'll 
come  down  handsomely.  The  fact  is,  Craven, 
my  circumstances  are  not  over  prosperous,  and 
of  course  I  don't  forget  that  I  have  a  rich 
brother-in-law." 

"  You  call  me  rich.  You  are  mistaken.  I 
get  a  living,  but  the  money  is  my  wife's." 

"  If  it  is  hers,  you  can  easily  get  possession 
of  it." 

"Only  one-third  of  it  belongs  to  her.  Two- 
thirds  belong  to  that  boy  you  met — my  step 


son." 


Suppose  he  dies  ?" 
It  goes  to  my  wife," 


A  CONSPIEACY  AGAINST  FRANK.  91 

"Then  you  have  some  chance  of  it." 

"  Not  much  ;  he  is  a  stout,  healthy  boy." 

"  Look  here,  Craven,  you  must  make  up 
your  mind  to  do  something  for  me.  Give  me 
a  thousand  dollars  down." 

"  I  couldn't  without  my  wife  finding  out. 
Besides  you  would  be  coming  back  for  more." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  might,"  said  the  other, 
coolly. 

"  You  would  ruin  me,"  exclaimed  Craven, 
sullenly.  "  Do  you  think  I  am  made  of 
money  ?" 

"  I  know  this — that  it  will  be  better  for  you 
to  share  your  prosperity  with  me,  and  so  in 
sure  not  being  disturbed.  'Half  a  loaf  is  better 
than  no  bread." 

Mr.  Craven  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  table, 
seriously  disturbed. 

"  How  much  is  the  boy  worth  ?"  asked 
Sharpley,  after  a  pause. 

"  Forty  thousand  dollars." 

"Forty  thousand  dollars!"  exclaimed 
Sharpley,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  greed. 
"  That's  splendid." 

"  For  him,  yes.    It  doesn't  do  me  any  good." 


92  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Didn't  you  say,  that  in  the  event  of  his 
death  the  money  would  go  to  your  wife  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  He  may  die." 

"  So  may  we.  That's  more  likely.  He's  a 
stout  boy,  as  you  must  have  observed,  since 
you  have  met  him." 

"  Life  is  uncertain.  Suppose  he  should  have 
a  fever,  or  meet  with  an  accident." 

"  Suppose  he  shouldn't." 

"  My  dear  Craven,"  said  Sharpley,  drawing 
his  chair  nearer  that  of  his  brother-in-law, 
"  it  strikes  me  that  you  are  slightly  obtuse, 
and  you  a  lawyer,  too.  Fie  upon  you  !  My 
meaning  is  plain  enough,  it  strikes  me." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  inquired  Craven, 
coloring,  and  shifting  uneasily  in  his  chair. 
"  You  wouldn't  have  me  murder  him,  would 
you?" 

"Don't  name  such  a  thing.  I  only  mean, 
that  if  we  got  a  good  opportunity  to  expose 
him  to  some  sickness,  and  he  happened  to  die 
of  it,  it  would  be  money  in  our  pockets." 

Craven  looked  startled,  and  his  sallow  face 
betrayed  by  its  pallor  his  inward  disturbance. 


A  CONSPIRACY  AGAINST  FRANK.  93 

"That  is  absurd,"  he  said.  "There  is  no 
chance  of  that  here.  If  the  boy  should  die 
I  shouldn't  mourn  much,  but  he  may  live  to 
eighty.  There's  not  much  chance  of  any  pes 
tilence  reaching  this  town." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  the  other,  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  "  but  then  this  little  village  isn't 
the  whole  world." 

"  You  seem  to  have  some  plan  to  propose," 
said  Mr.  Craven,  eagerly.  "What  is  it?" 

"  I  propose,"  said  Sharpley,  "  that  you  send 
the  boy  to  Europe  with  me." 

"  To  Europe  ?" 

"  Yes ;  on  a  traveling  tour,  for  his  educa 
tion,  improvement,  anything.  Only  send  him 
under  my  paternal  care,  and — possibly  he 
might  never  come  back." 

Mr.  Craven  was  not  a  scrupulous  man,  and 
this  proposal  didn't  shock  him  as  it  should 
have  done,  but  he  was  a  timid  man,  and  he 
could  not  suppress  a  tremor  of  alarm. 

"  But  isn't  there  danger  in  it  ?"  he  faltered. 

"  Not  if  it  is  rightly  managed,"  said 
Sharpley. 

"And  how  do  you  mean  to  manage  it?" 


94  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Can't  tell  yet,"  answered  the  other,  care 
lessly.  "The  thought  has  just  occurred  to 
me,  and  I  have  had  no  time  to  think  it  over. 
But  that  needn't  trouble  you.  You  can  safely 
leave  all  that  to  me." 

Mr.  Cm  ven  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand 
and  reflected.  Here  was  a  way  out  of  two 
embarrassments.  This  plan  offered  him 
present  safety  and  a  continuance  of  his  good 
fortune,  with  the  chance  of  soon  obtaining 
control  of  Frank's  fortune. 

"Well,  what  do  you  say?"  asked  Sharp- 
ley. 

"I  should  like  it  well  enough,  but  I 
don't  know  what  my  wife  and  the  boy  will 
say." 

"  Has  Mrs.  Craven  the — second — a  will  of 
her  own  ?" 

"  No,  she  is  very  yielding." 

"  Doesn't  trouble  you,  eh  ?  By  the  way, 
what  did  she  see  in  you,  Craven,  or  my  sister 
either,  for  that  matter,  to  attract  her  ?  There's 
no  accounting  for  tastes,  surely." 

"  That  is  not  to  the  point,"  said  Craven, 
impatiently. 


A  CONSPIRACY  AGAINST  FEANK.  05 

"  You  are  right.  That  is  not  to  the  point. 
Suppose  we  come  to  the  point,  then.  If  your 
wife  is  not  strong-minded  she  can  be  brought 
over,  and  the  boy,  if  he  is  like  most  boys, 
will  be  eager  to  embrace  the  chance  of  visiting 
Europe,  say  for  three  months.  It  will  be 
best,  I  suppose,  that  the  offer  should  come 
from  me.  I'll  tell  you  what  you  must  do. 
Invite  me  to  supper  to-night  and  offer  me 
a  bed,  and  I'll  lay  the  train.  Shall  it  be 
so?" 

"  Agreed,"  said  Craven,  and  thus  the 
iniquitous  compact  was  made. 


"Frank,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  "this  is  my 
friend,  Colonel  Sharpley.  I  believe  you  have 
already  made  his  acquaintance.  ? 


96  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  XL 

TKAPPED. 

"MRS.  CRAVEN,  I  have  pleasure  in 
JA_L  introducing  to  you  one  of  my  oldest 
friends,  Colonel  Sharpley." 

As  this  was  the  first  friend  of  her  husband 
who  had  come  in  her  way,  his  wife  regarded 
the  stranger  with  some  curiosity,  which,  how 
ever,  was  veiled  by  her  quiet  manner. 

"  I  am  glad  to  meet  a  friend  of  yours,  Mr. 
Craven/'  she  said,  offering  her  hand. 

"  I  have  invited  the  colonel  to  supper,  and 
pass  the  night  with  us,  Mary." 

"  I  am  glad  you  did  so.  I  will  see  that  a 
chamber  is  got  ready." 

After   she    had    left   the   room,   Sharpley 

no  accounting  for  tastes,  surely." 

"  That  is  not  to  the  point,"  said  Craven, 
mpatiently. 


TRAPPED.  97 

"  It  is  the  best  in  the  village,"  said  Craven, 
complacently. 

"  Evidently,  your  predecessor  had  taste  as 
well  as  money.  It  is  a  pity  that  there  is  a 
little  legal  impediment  in  the  way  of  your 
permanent  enjoyment  of  all  this  luxury." 

"Hush,  hush,  Sharpley !"  said  Mr.  Craven, 
nervously.  u  You  might  be  heard." 

"So  I  might,  and  as  that  would  interfere 
with  my  plans  as  well  as  yours,  I  will  be  care 
ful.  By  the  way,  that's  a  good  idea  making 
me  a  colonel.  It  sounds  well — Colonel  Sharp- 
ley,  eh  ?  Let  me  see.  I'll  call  myself  an 
officer  in  the  English  service — served  for  a 
while  in  the  East  Indies,  and  for  a  short 
period  in  Canada." 

"  Whatever  you  like.  But  here's  my  step 
son  coming  in." 

"  The  young  man  I'm  to  take  charge  of. 
I  must  ingratiate  myself  with  him." 

Here  Frank  entered  the  room.  He  paused 
when  he  saw  the  stranger. 

"Frank,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  "this  is  my 
friend,  Colonel  Sharpley.  I  believe  you  have 
already  made  his  acquaintance/7 


98  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  saw  him  this  morning." 

"  I  didn't  suspect  when  I  first  spoke  to  you 
that  you  were  related  to  my  old  friend,  Cra 
ven,"  said  Sharpley,  smiling. 

Mr.  Sharpley  was  a  man  not  overburdened 
— in  fact,  not  burdened  at  all — with  principle, 
but  he  could  make  himself  personally  more 
agreeable  than  Mr.  Craven,  nor  did  Frank 
feel  for  him  the  instinctive  aversion  which  he 
entertained  for  his  step-father.  The  stranger 
had  drifted  about  the  world,  and,  being  natu 
rally  intelligent  and  observing,  he  had  accu 
mulated  a  fund  of  information  which  enabled 
him  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  those  who 
were  unacquainted  with  his  real  character. 
He  laid  himself  out  now  to  entertain  Frank. 

"  Ah,  my  young  friend,"  he  said,  "  how  I 
envy  you  your  youth  and  hope.  I  am  an  old, 
battered  man  of  the  world,  who  has  been 
everywhere,  seen  a  great  deal,  and  yet,  in  all 
the  wide  world,  I  am  without  a  home." 

"  Have  you  traveled  much,  sir,"  asked 
Frank. 

"I  have  been  in  Europe,  Asia,  Africa, 
America  and  Australia,"  answered  Sharpley. 


TRAPPED.  99 

"  Yes,  Botany  Bay,"  thought  Craven,  but 
it  was  not  his  cue  to  insinuate  suspicions  of 
his  friend. 

"  How  much  you  must  have  seen  !"  said 
Frank,  interested. 

"  You're  right ;  I've  seen  a  great  deal." 

"Have  you  ever  been  in  Switzerland?" 

"  Yes,  I've  clambered  about  among  the 
Alps.  I  tried  to  ascend  Mont  Blanc,  but  had 
not  endurance  enough." 

Frank  was  interested.  He  had  read  books 
of  travels,  and  he  had  dreamed  of  visiting 
foreign  lands.  He  had  thought  more  than 
once  how  much  he  should  enjoy  roaming 
about  in  countries  beyond  the  sea,  but 
he  had  never,  in  his  quiet  country  home, 
even  met  one  who  had  made  this  journey, 
and  he  eagerly  listened  to  what  Colonel 
Sharpley  had  to  tell  him  about  these  distant 
lands. 

Here  supper  was  announced,  and  the  four 
sat  down. 

'•  Do  you  take  your  tea  strong,  Colonel 
Sharpley?"  asked  Mrs.  Craven. 

"  As  strong  as  you  can  make  it.     Tea  is  a 


100  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL, 

favorite  drink  of  mine.  I  have  drunk  it  in 
its  native  land — in  fact,  everywhere." 

"Have  you  been  in  China,  Colonel  Sharp- 
ley?" 

"  Yes,  madam.  I  spent  three  months 
there — learned  to  talk  broken  China  a  little," 
he  added,  with  a  laugh.  "  Yes,  Mrs.  Craven, 
I  have  been  a  rover." 

"  He  has  been  telling  me  about  Switzer 
land,  mother,"  said  Frank,  eagerly.  "How 
splendid  it  must  be  to  travel  there." 

"  I  am  going  back  to  Europe  in  three  or 
four  weeks,"  said  Sharpley,  ready  now  to 
spring  his  trap.  "Were  you  ever  there,  Mrs. 
Craven  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  I  am  timid  about  traveling." 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  why  you  and  my  friend 
Craven  didn't  pull  up  stakes  and  go  abroad 
for  a  time  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  getting  too  old  to  travel, 
Colonel  Sharpley." 

"  Old  !  my  dear  madam  ?  Why  you're  in 
the  prime  of  life.  If  you  are  getting  old, 
what  shall  I  say  about  myself?" 

"  I  suppose  I  am  not  quite  venerable,"  said 


TRAPPED.  101 

Mrs.  Craven,  smiling,  "  but  I  should  shrink 
from  the  voyage." 

"I  may  persuade  her  to  go  some  time," 
said  Mr.  Craven,  with  a  glance  at  his  wife. 
"Just  now  it  would  be  a  little  inconvenient 
for  me  to  leave  my  business." 

"  I  fancy  this  young  man  would  like  to 
go,"  said  Sharpley,  turning  to  Frank. 

"  Indeed  I  should,"  said  Frank,  eagerly. 
"  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  I  should  like 
better." 

"Come,  I  have  an  idea  to  propose,"  said 
Sharpley,  as  if  it  had  struck  him  ;  "if  you'll 
let  him  go  with  me,  I  will  look  after  him,  and 
at  the  end  of  three  months,  or  any  other 
period  you  may  name,  I  will  put  him  on 
board  a  steamer  bound  for  New  York.  It  will 
do  him  an  immense  deal  of  good." 

Mrs.  Craven  was  startled  by  the  sudden 
ness  of  the  proposal. 

"  How  could  he  come  home  alone?"  she  said. 

"  He  couldn't  leave  the  steamer  till  it 
reached  New  York,  and  I  am  sure  he  could 
find  his  way  home  from  there,  or  you  could 
meet  him  at  the  steamer." 


102  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Ob,  mother,  let  me  go !''  said  Frank,  all 
on  fire  with  the  idea. 

"  It  would  seem  lonely  without  you,  Frank." 

"  I  would  write  twice — three  times  a  week, 
and  I  should  have  ever  so  much  to  tell  you 
after  I  got  home." 

"What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Craven?"  asked 
his  wife,  hesitatingly. 

"  I  think  it  a  very  good  plan,  Mary,  hut,  as 
you  know,  I  don't  wish  to  interfere  with  your 
management  of  Frank.  If  you  say  yes,  I 
have  no  sort  of  objection." 

Just  at  that  moment  Frank  felt  more  kindly 
toward  Mr.  Craven  than  he  had  ever  done 
before.  He  could  not,  of  course,  penetrate 
the  treachery  which  he  meditated. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  say.  Do  you 
think  there  would  be  any  danger  ?" 

"  I  have  great  confidence  in  my  friend, 
Colonel  Sharpley.  He  is  an  experienced  trav 
eler — has  been  everywhere,  as  he  has  told  you. 
I  really  wish  I  could  go  myself  in  the  party." 

This  Frank  did  not  wish,  though  he  would 
prefer  to  go  with  Mr.  Craven  rather  than 
stay  at  home. 


TRAPPED.  103 

" Would  it  not  interrupt  his  studies?" 
asked  his  mother,  as  a  final  objection. 

"  Summer  is  near  at  hand,  and  he  would 
have  a  vacation  at  any  rate.  He  will  proba 
bly  study  all  the  better  after  he  returns." 

"  That  I  will,"  said  Frank. 

"Then,  if  you  really  think  it  best,  I  will 
consent,"  said  Mrs.  Craven. 

Frank  was  so  overjoyed  that  he  jumped 
from  his  chair  and  threw  his  arms  around  his 
mother's  neck.  A  flush  of  pleasure  came  to 
her  cheek,  and  she  felt  repaid  for  the  sacri 
fice  she  must  make  of  Frank's  society.  She 
knew  beforehand  that  her  husband's  com 
pany  would  not  go  far  toward  compensating 
that. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  my  young  friend," 
said  Colonel  Sharpley  (for  we  may  as  well 
address  him  by  his  stolen  title),  "upon  the 
pleasure  before  you." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,  for 
being  willing  to  take  so  much  trouble  on  my 
account." 

"No  need  of  thanks  on  that  score.  The 
fact  is,  I  shall  enjoy  the  trip  all  the  more 


104  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

in  watching  your  enjoyment.  I  am  rather 
blase  myself,  but  it  will  be  a  treat  to  me  to 
see  what  impressions  foreign  scenes  make  on 
you." 

"How  soon  do  you  go,  sir?"  asked  Frank, 
eagerly. 

"  Let  me  see  ;  this  is  the  fifth.  I  will  en 
gage  passage  for  the  nineteenth — that  is,  if 
you  can  get  ready  at  such  short  notice." 

"  No  fear  of  that,"  said  Frank,  confidently. 

"  He'll  be  on  hand  promptly,  you  may  be 
sure,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  smiling.  "  Really, 
Frank,  we  shall  miss  you  very  much." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Frank,  feeling  al 
most  cordial  to  his  step-father  ;  "  but  it  won't 
be  long,  and  I  shall  write  home  regularly." 

During  the  evening  Frank  kept  Sharpley 
busy  telling  him  about  foreign  parts.  Mr. 
Craven  listened,  with  a  crafty  smile,  watching 
him  as  a  spider  does  an  entangled  fly. 

"  He's  trapped  !"  he  said  to  himself 

Poor  Frank  !  How  little  could  he  read  of 
the  future ! 


TWO  BOY  FRIENDS.  105 


CHAPTER   XII. 

TWO    BOY    FRIENDS. 

*  fc'  r\  OING  to  Europe,  Frank  !"  repeated 
\JT  his  friend,  Ben  Cameron,  in  un 
bounded  astonishment.  "  I  can  hardly  be 
lieve  it." 

"I  can  hardly  believe  it  myself;  but  it's 
true." 

"  How  did  it  come  about?" 

"  Colonel  Sharpley,  Mr.  Craven's  friend,  is 
going,  and  offered  to  take  me." 

"Didn't  Mr.  Craven  object?' 

"  No  ;  why  should  he  ?  He  thought  it  was 
a  good  plan." 

"  And  your  mother  ?" 

"  She  was  a  little  afraid  at  first  that  some 
thing  might  happen  to  me;  but,  as  Colonel 
Sharpley  and  Mr.  Craven  were  in  favor  of  it, 
she  yielded." 


106  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Well,  Frank,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  I  wish 
I  were  in  your  shoes." 

"  I  wish  you  were  going  with  me,  Ben. 
Wouldn't  it  be  jolly?" 

"  Unfortunately,  Frank,  I  wasn't  born  with 
a  silver  spoon  in  my  mouth,  like  you.  You 
are  the  son  of  rich  parents,  while  my  father  is 
a  poor  carpenter,  working  by  the  day." 

"  I  like  you  as  much  as  if  you  were  worth 
half  a  million,  Ben." 

"  I  know  you  do,  Frank ;  but  that  doesn't 
give  me  the  half-million.  I  must  postpone 
going  to  Europe  till  I  have  earned  money 
enough  with  my  own  hands." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,  Ben." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Frank  ?" 

"  I  mean  this,  that  when  I  am  twenty-one 
I  come  into  possession  of  about  forty  thousand 
dollars.  Now,  the  interest  on  that  is  two 
thousand  four  hundred.  I'll  invite  you  to  go 
abroad  with  me,  and  spend  a  year  there.  If 
the  interest  isn't  enough  to  pay  our  expenses, 
I  will  take  a  few  hundred  dollars  of  the  prin 
cipal." 

"  That's  a  generous  offer,  Frank,"  said  Ben  ; 


TWO  BOY  FRIENDS.  107 

"but  you  don't  consider  that  at  that  time  I 
shall  be  a  journeyman  carpenter,  very  likely, 
while  you  will  be  a  young  gentleman,  just  grad 
uated  from  college.  You  may  not  want  such 
company  then." 

"  My  dear  Ben,"  said  Frank,  laying  his 
hand  affectionately  on  the  other's  shoulder, 
"  if  you  think  I'm  a  snob  or  likely  to  become 
one,  say  so  at  once;  but  I  hope  you  think 
better  of  me  than  to  believe  that  I  will  ever 
be  ashamed  of  my  dearest  friend,  even  if  he 
is  a  journeyman  carpenter.  I  should  despise 
myself  if  I  thought  such  a  thing  possible." 

"  Then  I  won't  think  so,  Frank." 

"That's  right,  Ben.  We'll  be  friends  for 
life,  or,  if  we  are  not,  it  shall  be  your  fault, 
not  mine.  But  there's  one  favor  I  am  going 
to  ask  of  you." 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

"That  while  I  am  gone  you  will  call  round 
often  and  see  mother.  She  will  miss  me  a 
great  deal,  for  I  have  always  been  with  her? 
and  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  her  to  see  you, 
whom  she  knows  to  be  my  dearest  friend, 
and  talk  with  you  about  me.  Will  you  go  ?" 


108  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Certainly  I  will,  Frank,  if  you  think  she 
would  like  to  have  me." 

"  I  know  she  would.  You  see,  Ben,  though 
Mr.  Craven  and  my  mother  get  along  well 
enough,  I  am  sure  she  doesn't  love  him.  He 
may  be  a  fair  sort  of  man,  and  I  am  bound  to 
say  that  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  him,  but 
I  don't  think  she  finds  a  great  deal  of  pleasure 
in  his  society.  Of  course,  Ben,  you  won't 
repeat  this  ?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  And  you  will  call  often  ?" 

"  Yes,  Frank." 

"I  will  tell  mother  so.  Then  I  shall  leave 
home  with  a  light  heart.  Just  think  of  it, 
Ben — it's  now  the  sixth  of  the  month,  and  on 
the  nineteenth  I  sail.  I  wish  it  were  to 


morrow." 


"  It  will  soon  be  here,  Frank." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it.  I  am  afraid  I  can't  fix  my 
mind  on  my  studies  much  for  the  next  week  or 
so.  I  shall  be  thinking  of  Europe  all  the  time." 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Craven  and  Colonel  Sharp- 
ley,  in  the  office  of  the  former,  were  discussing 
the  same  subject. 


TWO  BOY  FRIENDS.  109 

"  So  we  have  succeeded,  Craven,"  said 
Sharpley,  taking  out  a  cigar  and  beginning  to 
smoke. 

"  Yes,  you  managed  it  quite  cleverly." 

"  Neither  Mrs.  Craven  nor  the  boy  will 
suspect  that  you  are  particularly  interested  in 
getting  him  out  of  the  country." 

"  No,"  said  Craven,  complacently ;  "I  be 
lieve  I  scored  a  point  in  my  favor  with  the 
boy  by  favoring  the  project.  Had  I  opposed 
it,  his  mother  would  not  have  consented,  and 
he  knows  it." 

"  Yes,  that  is  well.  It  will  avert  sus 
picion  hereafter.  Now  there  is  an  impor 
tant  point  to  be  considered.  What  funds 
are  you  going  to  place  in  my  hands  to  start 
with  ?" 

''"How  much  shall  you  need?" 

(i  Well,  you  must  supply  me  with  money  at 
once  to  pay  for  tickets — say  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars,  and  a  bill  of  exchange  for  a 
thousand  dollars,  to  begin  with.  More  can  be 
sent  afterward." 

"  I  hope  you  won't  be  too  extravagant, 
Sharpley,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  a  little  uneasily. 


110  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

''Extravagant!  Why,  zounds,  man,  two 
persons  can't  travel  for  nothing.  Besides,  the 
money  doesn't  come  out  of  your  purse  ;  it 
comes  out  of  the  boy's  fortune." 

"If  I  draw  too  much,  his  mother,  who  is 
his  guardian,  will  be  startled." 

"  Then  draw  part  from  her  funds.  You 
have  the  control  of  those." 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  have  a  right  to." 

"  Pooh,  man,  get  over  your  ridiculous  scru 
ples.  I  know  your  real  reason.  You  look 
upon  her  money  as  yours,  and  don't  like  to 
part  with  any  of  it.  But  just  consider,  if 
things  turn  out  as  we  expect,  you  will  shortly 
get  possession  of  the  boy's  forty  thousand 
dollars,  and  can  then  pay  yourself.  Don't 
you  see  it  ?" 

"  Perhaps  the  boy  may  return  in  safety," 
suggested  Craven.  "  In  that  case  our  plans 
are  all  dished." 

"  Don't  be  afraid  of  that,"  said  Sharpley, 
with  wicked  significance.  "  I  will  take  care 
of  that." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  say,  then,"  said  Craven. 
"  You  shall  have  two  hundred  dollars  for  the 


TWO  BOY  FRIENDS.  Ill 

purchase  of  tickets  and  a  bill  of  exchange  for 
a  thousand." 

"  You  may  as  well  say  three  hundred,  Cra 
ven,  as  there  will  be  some  extra  preliminary 
expenses,  and  you  had  better  give  me  the 
money  now,  as  I  am  going  up  to  the  city  this 
morning  to  procure  tickets.'* 

"  Very  well,  three  hundred  let  it  be." 

"  And  there's  another  point  to  be  settled, 
a  very  important  one,  and  we  may  as  well 
settle  it  now." 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

"  How  much  am  I  to  receive  in  case  our 
plans  work  well  ?" 

"How  much?"  repeated  Craven,  hesitatingly. 

"  Yes,  how  much  ?" 

"  Well,  say  two  thousand  dollars." 

"  Two  thousand  devils !"  exclaimed  Sharp- 
ley,  indignantly.  "Why,  Craven,  you  must 
take  me  for  a  fool." 

Mr.  Craven  hastily  disclaimed  this  imputa 
tion. 

"  You  expect  me  to  do  your  dirty  work  for 
any  such  paltry  sum  as  that !  No  !  I  don't 
sell  myself  so  cheap." 


112  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Two  thousand  dollars  is  a  good  deal  of 
money." 

"  Not  for  such  services  as  that,  especially 
as  it  leaves  you  nineteen  times  as  much. 
Craven,  it  won't  do  !" 

"  Say  five  thousand  dollars,  then !"  said 
Craven,  reluctantly. 

"That's  a  little  more  like  the  figure,  but  it 
isn't  enough." 

"What  will  satisfy  you,  then  ?" 

"  Ten  thousand." 

"  Ten  thousand  !"  repeated  Craven,  in  dis 
may. 

"  Yes,  ten  thousand,"  said  Sharpley,  firmly. 
"  Not  a  cent  less." 

Mr.  Craven  expostulated,  but  his  expostu 
lations  were  all  in  vain.  His  companion  felt 
that  he  had  him  in  his  power,  and  was  not 
disposed  to  abate  his  demands.  Finally  the 
agreement  was  made. 

"Shall  it  be  in  writing,  Craven?"  asked 
Sharpley,  jocosely. 

"No,  no." 

"  I  didn't  know  but  you  might  want  to  bind 
me.  When  does  the  train  leave  for  New  York?" 


TWO  BOY  FRIENDS.  113 

"  In  an  hour." 

"  Then  I'll  trouble  you  to  look  up  three 
hundred  dollars  for  me,  and  I'll  take  it." 

By  the  ten  o'clock  train  Colonel  Sharpley 
was  a  passenger.  Mr.  Craven  saw  him  off, 
and  then  returned  thoughtfully  to  his  office. 

"It's  a  bold  plan,"  thus  he  soliloquized; 
"  but  I  think  it  will  succeed.  If  it  does,  I 
shall  no  longer  be  dependent  upon  the  will 
or  caprice  of  my  wife.  I  shall  be  my  own 
master,  and  possessed  of  an  abundant  for 
tune. 

"  If  only  Sharpley  and  the  boy  could  die 
together,  it  would  be  a  great  relief.  While 
that  man  lives  I  shall  not  feel  wholly  safe. 
However,  one  at  a  time.  Let  the  boy  be  got 
out  of  the  way,  and  I  will  see  what  can  be 
done  for  the  other.  The  cards  are  in  my 
favor,  and  if  I  play  a  crafty  game,  I  shall  win 
in  the  end." 


114  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

JONATHAN  TARBOX,  OF  SQUASHBORO'. 

A  GREAT  steamer  was  plowing  its  way 
through  the  Atlantic  waves.  Fifteen 
hundred  miles  were  traversed,  and  nearly  the 
same  remained  to  be  crossed.  The  sea  had 
been  rough  in  consequence  of  a  storm,  and 
even  now  there  was  considerable  motion.  A 
few  passengers  were  on  deck,  among  them  our 
young  hero,  who  felt  better  in  the  open  air 
than  in  the  closer  atmosphere  below ;  besides, 
he  admired  the  grandeur  of  the  sea,  spreading 
out  on  all  sides  of  him,  farther  than  his  eyes 
could  reach.  He  had  got  over  his  first  sad 
ness  at  parting  with  his  mother,  and  he  was 
now  looking  forward  with  the  most  eager 
anticipation  to  setting  foot  upon  European 
soil. 

He  shared  a  state-room  with  Sharpley,  but 
the  latter  spent  little  time  in  the  boy's  com 
pany.  He  had  discovered  some  congenial 


JONATHAN  TARBOX,  OF  SQUASHBORO'.    115 

company  among  the  other  passengers,  and 
spent  most  of  the  time  smoking  with  them 
or  playing  cards  below.  Frank  did  not  miss 
him  much,  as  he  found  plenty  to  engage  his 
attention  on  board. 

As  he  stood  looking  out  on  the  wild  waste 
of  waters,  trying  to  see  if  anywhere  he  could 
discover  another  vessel,  he  was  aroused  by 
the  salutation  : 

"  I  say,  you  boy  !" 

Looking  around,  he  saw  a  tall,  thin  man, 
dressed  in  a  blue  swallow-tail  coat  with  brass 
buttons,  a  high  standing  dickey,  and  pants 
three  or  four  inches  too  short  in  the  legs.  He 
was  an  admirable  specimen  of  the  Yankee — 
as  he  is  represented  on  the  stage — an  excep 
tional  specimen,  though  some  of  our  foreign 
friends  may  regard  him  as  the  rule.  It  was 
not  the  first  time  Frank  had  seen  him.  Two 
or  three  times  he  had  appeared  at  the  table; 
but  he  had  been  stricken  with  seasickness, 
and  for  the  greater  part  of  the  voyage  thus 
far  had  remained  in  his  state-room. 

"Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Frank,  politely. 
"  You  have  been  seasick,  haven't  you  ?" 


116  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"Seasick  I  I  guess  I  have,"  returned  the 
other,  energetically.  "  I  thought  I  was  goin' 
to  kick  the  bucket  more'n  once." 

"  It  is  not  a  very  agreeable  feeling,"  said 
Frank. 

"  I  guess  not,  If  I'd  known  what  kind  of 
a  time  I  was  a-goin'  to  have,  I  wouldn't  have 
left  Squashboro',  you  bet !" 

"  Are  you  from  Squashboro'  ?"  asked  Frank, 
amused. 

"  Yes,  I'm  from  Squashboro',  State  of 
Maine,  and  I  wish  I  was  there  just  now,  I 
tell  you." 

"  You  won't  feel  so  when  you  get  on  the 
other  side,"  said  Frank,  consolingly. 

"Well,  may  be  not;  but  I  tell  you,  boy,  it 
feels  kinder  risky  bein'  out  here  on  the  mill- 
pond  with  nothin'  but  a  plank  between  you 
and  drownin'.  I  guess  I  wouldn't  make  a 
very  good  sailor." 

"  Are  you  going  to  travel  much  ?"  asked 
Frank. 

"  Wai,  you  see,  I  go  mostly  on  business. 
My  name's  Jonathan  Tarbox.  My  father's 
name  is  Elnathan  Tarbox.  He's  got  a  nice 


JONATHAN  TARBOX,  OF  SQUASHBORO'.    117 

farm  in  Squashboro',  next  to  old  Deacon 
Perkins'.  Was  you  ever  in  Squashboro'  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  think  not." 

"  It's  a  thrivin'  place,  is  Squashboro'.  Wai, 
now,  I  guess  you  are  wonderin'  what  sets  me 
out  to  go  to  Europe,  ain't  you  ?" 

"  I  suppose  you  want  to  see  the  country, 
Mr.  Tarbox." 

"  Ef  that  was  all,  you  wouldn't  catch  me 
goin'  over  and  spendin'  a  heap  of  money,  all 
for  nothin'.  That  ain't  business." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  go  on  business  ?" 

"  I  guess  I  do.  You  see  I've  invented  a 
new  plow,  that,  I  guess,  is  goin'  to  take  the 
shine  off  of  any  other  that's  in  use,  and  it 
kinder  struck  me  that  ef  I  should  take  it  to 
the  Paris  Exhibition,  I  might,  may  be,  make 
somethin'  out  of  it.  I've  lieerd  that  they're  a 
good  deal  behind  in  farm  tools  in  the  old 
European  countries,  and  I  guess  I'll  open 
their  eyes  a  little  with  my  plow." 

"  I  hope  you'll  succeed,  Mr.  Tarbox,"  said 
Frank,  politely. 

"  I  guess  I  shall.  You  see,  I've  risked 
considerable  money  onto  it — that  is,  in  trav- 


118  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

elin'  expenses  and  such  like.  You  see,  my 
Uncle  Abner — he  wasn't  my  real  uncle,  that 
is,  by  blood,  but  he  was  the  husband  of  my 
Aunt  Matilda,  my  mother's  oldest  sister— 
didn't  have  no  children  of  his  own,  so  he  left 
me  two  thousand  dollars  in  his  will." 

Mr.  Tarbox  paused  in  order  to  see  what 
effect  the  mention  of  this  great  inheritance 
would  have  upon  his  auditor. 

"  Indeed  you  were  lucky,  Mr.  Tarbox,"  said 
Frank. 

"  I  guess  I  felt  tickled  when  I  heard  of  it. 
I  jist  kicked  like  a  two-year-old  colt.  Wai, 
now,  dad  wanted  me  to  buy  a  thirty-acre  farm 
that  was  for  sale  about  half  a  mile  from  his'n, 
but  I  wouldn't.  I'd  about  fetched  my  plow 
out  right,  and  I  wa'n't  goin'  to  settle  down  on 
no  two-thousand-dollar  farm.  Catch  me ! 
No;  I  heerd'of  this  Paris  Exhibition,  and  I 
vowed  I'd  come  out  here  and  see  what  could 
be  did.  So  here  I  am.  I  ain't  sorry  I  cum, 
though  I  was  about  sick  enough  to  die. 
Thought  I  should  a-turned  inside  out  one 
night  when  the  vessel  was  goin'  every  which 
way." 


JONATHAN  TARBOX,  OF  SQUASHBORO*.    119 

"  I  was  sick  myself  that  night,"  said 
Frank. 

Mr.  Tarbox  having  now  communicated  all 
his  own  business,  naturally  felt  a  degree  of 
curiosity  about  that  of  his  young  companion. 

"  Are  you  goin'  to  the  Paris  Exhibition  ?" 
he  asked. 

"  I  suppose  so.  It  depends  upon  Colonel 
Sharpley." 

"  The  man  you're  travelin'  with  ?     Yes  ;  I    > 
saw  him  at  the  table — tall   man,  black  hair, 
and  slim,  ain't  he?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"So  he's  a  colonel,  is  he?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  he  fight  in  any  of  our  wars  ?" 

"  No,  he's  an  Englishman." 

"  Oh !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Tarbox,  with  a 
slight  contempt  in  his  voice.  "  He  wouldn't 
be  no  match  for  an  American  officer." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Frank. 

"  Wai,  I  do — the  Yankees  always  could 
whip  any  other  nation,  not  but  the  colonel 
seems  a  respectable  man,  though  he's  a  for 
eigner." 


120  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  It  is  we  who  will  be  foreigners  when  we 
get  to  England,"  said  Frank. 

This  aroused  the  controversial  spirit  of  Mr. 
Tarbox. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  and  me  will 
turn  to  furriners  ?"  he  asked,  indignantly. 

"  We  shall  be  foreigners  in  England." 

"  No,  we  won't,"  said  Jonathan,  energeti 
cally.  "  At  any  rate,  I  won't.  I  shall  al 
ways  be  a  free-born  American  citizen,  and 
a  free-born  American  citizen  can't  be  a  fur- 


riner." 


"  Not  in  America,  Mr.  Tarbox,  but  in  Eng 
land,  I  am  saying." 

"  A  free-born  American  citizen  ain't  a  fur- 
rincr  anywhere,"  said  Mr.  Tarbox,  emphati 
cally. 

Frank  was  amused,  but  felt  it  wise  to  dis 
continue  the  discussion. 

"  Are  you  goin'  to  Europe  on  business  ?" 
inquired  the  other. 

"  No,  only  for  pleasure." 

"Sho!  I  guess  you  must  have  a  consid 
erable  pile  of  money  !"  suggested  Mr.  Tarbox, 
inquiringly. 


JONATHAN  TAEEOX,  OF  SQUASHBOKO'.    121 

"  I  have  a  little  money,"  said  Frank,  mod 
estly. 

"  Left  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  by  my  father." 

"  Wai,  so  you're  in  luck,  too.  Is  the  colonel 
related  to  you  ?" 

"No.    He  is  a  friend  of  my  step-father." 

"  Sho !  So  your  mother  married  again. 
How  long  are  you  going  to  stay  on  the  other 
side?" 

"  Only  three  or  four  months,  I  think." 

"  Do  you  know  how  much  they  ask  for 
hoard  in  Paris?"  asked  Jonathan,  with  con 
siderable  interest. 

"  No,  Mr.  Tarbox,  I  have  no  idea.  I  sup 
pose  it's  according  to  what  kind  of  rooms  and 
board  you  take." 

"  Wai,  you  see,  Mr. — what  did  you  say 
your  name  was  ?" 

"  Hunter." 

"  I  once  knowed  a  Hunter — I  think  he  was 
took  up  for  stealing." 

"  I  don't  think  he  was  any  relation  of  mine, 
Mr.  Tarbox." 

"  Likely  not.     What  was  I  a-goin'  to  say  ? 


122  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

Oh,  Mr.  Hunter,  I  ain't  very  particular  about 
my  fodder.  I  don't  mind  havin'  baked  beans 
half  the  time — pork  and  beans — and  you 
know  them  are  cheap." 

"  So  I've  heard." 

"  And  as  to  a  room,  I  don't  mind  it's  bein' 
fixed  up  with  fiddle-de-dee  work  and  sich.  Ef 
it's  only  comfortable — that'll  suit  me." 

"  Then  I  think  you'll  be  able  to  get  along 
cheap,  Mr.  Tarbox." 

"  That's  what  I  calc'late.  Likely  I'll  see 
you  over  there.  What's  that  bell  for  ?" 

"  Lunch." 

"  Let's  go  down.  Fact  is,  I've  been  so 
tarnal  sea-sick  I'm  empty  as  a  well-bucket 
dried  in  the  sun.  I  guess  I  can  eat  to-day." 

They  went  down  to  the  saloon,  and  Mr. 
Tarbox's  prophecy  was  verified.  He  shoveled 
in  the  food  with  great  energy,  and  did  con 
siderable  toward  making  up  for  past  deficien 
cies.  Frank  looked  on  amused.  He  was 
rather  inclined  to  like  his  countryman,  though 
he  acknowledged  him  to  be  very  deficient  in 
polish  and  refinements  v- 


THE  LONDON  CLERK.  123 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    LOXDOX    CLERK. 


JONATHAN  TARBOX  seemed  to  have 
taken  a  fancy  to  our  hero,  for  immedi 
ately  after  lunch  he  followed  him  on  deck. 

"  I  want  to  show  you  a  drawin'  of  my  plow, 
Mr.  Hunter,"  he  said. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it,  Mr.  Tarbox,  but  I 
am  no  judge  of  such  things." 

Mr.  Tarbox  drew  a  paper  from  his  coat- 
pocket  containing  a  sketch  of  his  invention. 
He  entered  into  a  voluble  explanation  of  it, 
to  which  Frank  listened  good-naturedly, 
though  without  much  comprehension. 

"Do  you  think  it'll  work  ?"  asked  the  in 
ventor. 

"  I  should  think  it  might.  Mr.  Tarbox,  but 
then  I  don't  know  much  about  such  things." 

"  I  don't  believe  they've  got  anything  in 
Europe  that'll  come  up  to  it,"  said  Mr.  Tar- 


124  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

box,  complacently.  "  Ef  I  can  get  it  intro 
duced  into  England  and  France,  it'll  pay  me 
handsome." 

"Have  you  shown  it   to  any  Englishman 

yet?" 

"  No,  I  haven't.     I  don't  know  any." 

"  There  are  some  on  board  this  steamer." 

"Are  there?     Where?" 

"  There's  one." 

Frank  pointed  out  a  young  man  with  weak 
eyes  and  auburn  hair,  a  London  clerk,  who 
visited  the  United  States  on  a  business  errand, 
and  was  now  returning.  He  was  at  this  mo 
ment  standing  on  deck,  with  his  arms  folded, 
looking  out  to  sea. 

"  I  guess  I'll  go  and  speak  to  him,"  said 
Mr.  Tarbox.  "  May  be  he  can  help  me  intro 
duce  my  plow  in  London." 

Frank  watched  with  some  amusement  the 
interview  between  Mr.  Tarbox  and  the  Lon 
don  clerk,  \\hich  he  shrewdly  suspected  was 
not  likely  to  lead  to  any  satisfactory  results. 

Mr.  Tarbox  approached  the  Englishman 
from  behind,  and  unceremoniously  slapped 
him  on  the  back. 


THE  LONDON  CLERK.  125 

The  clerk  whirled  round  suddenly  and 
surveyed  Mr.  Tarbox  with  mingled  surprise 
and  indignation. 

"What  did  you  say?"  he  inquired. 

"  How  are  you,  old  boss  ?" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  call  me  a  'oss  ?" 

"  No,  I  call  you  a  boss.  How  do  you 
feel  ?" 

"  I  don't  feel  any  better  for  your  hitting 
me  on  the  back,  sir,"  said  the  clerk,  angrily. 

"  Sho  !  your  back  must  be  wreak.  Been  sea 
sick  ?" 

"  I  have  suffered  some  from  sea-sickness," 
returned  the  person  addressed,  with  an  air  of 
restraint, 

"So  have  I.  I  tell  you  I  thought  some 
thing  was  goin'  to  cave  in." 

"  Of  what  earthly  interest  does  he  suppose 
that  is  to  me?"  thought  the  clerk,  supercil 
iously. 

"  Fact  is,"  continued  Mr.  Tarbox,  "  I'd  a 
good  deal  rather  be  to  home  in  Squashboro', 
livin'  on  baked  beans,  than  be  here  livin'  on 
all  their  chicken  fixin's.  I  suppose  you've 
heard  of  Squashboro'  hain't  you  ?" 


126  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  I  can't  say  I  have,"  said  the  clerk,  coldly, 
adjusting  his  eye-glasses,  and  turning  away 
from  his  uncongenial  companion. 

"  Squashboro',  State  o'  Maine.  It's  a  pooty 
smart  place — got  three  stores,  a  blacksmith's 
shop,  a  grist  mill,  and  two  meetin'-houses." 

"  Really,  my  friend/'  said  the  Englishman, 
"  Squashboro'  may  be  as  smart  a  place  as  you 
say,  but  it  doesn't  interest  me." 

"  Don't  it  ?  That's  because  you  haven't 
been  there.  We've  got  some  smart  men  in 
Squashboro'." 

"You  don't  say  so?"  said  the  other,  in  a 
sarcastic  tone. 

"There's  Squire  Perkins,  selectman,  town 
clerk  and  auctioneer.  You'd  ought  to  hear 
his  tongue  go  when  he  auctioneers.  Then 
there's  Parson  Pratt — knows  a  sight  of  Latin, 
Greek  and  Hebrew." 

"  Are  you  one  of  the  smart  men  of 
Sqnashboro'  ?"  asked  the  clerk,  in  the  same 
tone. 

"  Wai,  that  ain't  for  me  to  say,"  answered 
Mr.  Tarbox,  modestly.  "You  never  can  tell 
what  may  happen,  as  the  hen  said  when  she 


THE  LONDON1  CLERK.  127 

hatched  a  lot  of  geese.  But  I'll  tell  you 
what,  Mr.  Englishman — " 

"  My  name  is  Robinson,"  interrupted  the 
other,  vstiffly. 

"  Why,  howdy  do,  Mr.  Robinson  !"  ex 
claimed  Jonathan,  seizing  the  unwilling  hand 
of  the  other  and  shaking  it  vigorously.  "  My 
name  is  Tarbox — Jonathan  Tarbox,  named 
after  my  grandfather.  His  name  was  Jona 
than,  too." 

"  Really,  your  family  history  is  very  inter 


esting. 


"  Glad  you  think  so.  But  as  I  was  sayin', 
when  you  spoke  about  me  bein'  smart,  I've 
got  up  a  new  plow  that's  goin'  to  take  the 
shine  off  all  that's  goin',"  and  he  plunged 
his  hand  into  his  pocket. 

"  You  don't  carry  a  plow  round  in  your 
pocket,  do  you  ?"  asked  Mr.  Robinson,  arch 
ing  his  eyebrows. 

"  Come,  now,  Mr.  Robinson,  that's  a  good 
joke  for  you.  I've  got  a  plan  of  it  here  on 
this  piece  of  paper.  If  you'll  squat  down 
somewhere,  I'll  explain  it  to  you." 

"  I  prefer  standing,  Mr. — Mr.  Tarbarrel." 


128  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL 


"  Tarbox  is  my  name." 

"Ah — Tarbox,  then.  No  great  differ 
ence." 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Robberson — " 

"  Robinson,  sir." 

"Ah — is  it?"  said  Jonathan,  innocently. 
"  No  great  difference." 

Mr.  Robinson  looked  suspicious,  but  the 
expression  of  his  companion's  face  was  un 
changed,  and  betrayed  no  malice  prepense. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  plows," 
said  the  clerk,  coldly.  "  You'd  better  show 
it  to  somebody  else — I  never  saw  a  plow  in 
my  life." 

"  Never  saw  a  plow  !"  ejaculated  Jonathan, 
in  the  utmost  surprise.  "  Why,  where  have 
you  been  livin'  all  your  life  ?" 

"  In  London." 

"  And  don't  they  have  plows  in  the 
stores  ?" 

"  I  suppose  they  may,  but  they're  not  in  my 
line." 

"  Why,  I  knowed  a  plow  as  soon  as  I  could 
walk,"  said  Mr.  Tarbox. 

"  I  leave  such  things  to  laborers,"  said  Mr. 


THE  LONDON  CLEEK.  129 

Robinson,  superciliously.  "I  feel  no  interest 
in  them." 

"Ain't  you  a  laborer  yourself?"  asked 
Jonathan. 

"I — a  laborer!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Robinson, 
with  natural  indignation.  "  Do  you  mean  to 
insult  me?" 

"  I  never  insult  nobody.  But  don't  you 
work  for  a  livin'  ?  That's  what  I  mean." 

"  I  am  engaged  in  trade,"  answered  the 
clerk,  haughtily. 

"  Then  you  do  work  for  a  livin',  and  so,  of 
course,  you're  a  laborer." 

"  Sir,  men  in  my  business  are  not  laborers 
— they  are  merchants." 

"  What's  the  difference  ?" 

"  I  perceive,  sir,  that  you  are  not  accus 
tomed  to  society.  I  excuse  you  on  account  of 
your  ignorance." 

"  Ignorance !  What  do  you  mean  by 
that  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Tarbox,  in  his  turn  in 
dignant. 

Jonathan  looked  threatening,  and  as  he 
was  physically  the  Englishman's  superior,  the 
latter  answered  hastily : 


130  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  I  only  meant  to  say  that  you  were  not 
versed  in  the  requirements  and  convention 
alities  of  society." 

"  Is  that  English  ?"  asked  Jonathan,  with  a 
puzzled  look. 

"  I  believe  so." 

"Well,  I  never  heard  sick  jawbreakers  be 
fore,  but,  if  it's  an  apology,  it's  all  right. 
Won't  you  look  at  the  plow,  then  ?" 

"  It  would  be  of  no  use,  Mr.  Tarbox — I 
don't  know  about  such  things,  I  assure  you. 
You  had  better  show  it  to  somebody  else. 
My  life  has  been  passed  in  London,  and  I 
really  am  profoundly  ignorant  of  agricultural 
implements." 

As  he  spoke,  he  turned  away  and  walked 
down  stairs.  Mr.  Tarbox  followed  him  with 
his  eyes,  ejaculating : 

"That's  a  queer  critter.  He's  over  thirty 
years  old,  I  guess,  and  he's  never  sot  eyes  on 
a  plow  !  He'd  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  his 


ignorance." 


'  Well,  Mr.  Tarbox,"  said  Frank,  when  his 
new  friend  rejoined  him,  "  did  you  explain 
your  new  invention  to  the  Englishman  ?" 


THE  LONDON  CLERK.  131 

"  I  was  goin'  to,  but  he  said  he  never  seed 
one  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  and  didn't 
take  no  interest  in  them.  What  do  you  think 
of  that?" 

"  He  can't  have  been  in  the  country  much, 
I  should  think." 

"He  keeps  store  in  London,  he  says; 
but  he's  a  poor,  ignorant  creetur,  and  he 
don't  want  to  learn.  I  wanted  to  explain  all 
about  my  invention,  but  he  wouldn't  look 
at  it." 

"  There  are  other  Englishmen  who  will 
take  more  interest  in  it,  Mr.  Tarbox — men 
who  live  in  the  country  and  cultivate  the 
land." 

"  I  hope  so.  I  hope  they  ain't  all  as  ig 
norant  as  that  creetur.  Do  you  think  that 
colonel  that  you're  travelin'  with  would  like 
to  look  at  it?" 

"  I  don't  believe  he  would,  Mr.  Tarbox.  I 
don't  know  much  about  him,  but  he  seems 
to  me  like  a  man  that  has  always  lived  in  the 
city." 

"  Just  as  you  say.  I'd  just  as  lief  explain 
it  to  him." 


132  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Are  you  going  to  put  it  in  the  exhibi 
tion  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I've  got  it  packed  in  my  trunk  in 
pieces.  I'm  going  to  put  it  together  on  the 
other  side,  and  take  it  along  with  me." 

This  was  not  the  last  conversation  Frank 
had  with  Mr.  Tarbox.  He  always  listened 
with  sympathy  to  the  recital  of  the  other's 
plans  and  purposes,  and  Jonathan  showed  a 
marked  predilection  for  the  society  of  our 
young  hero.  Without  knowing  it,  Frank  was 
making  a  friend  who  would  be  of  value  in  the 
future. 


ME.  TARBOX  IS  OBSTINATE.  133 


CHAPTER   XV. 

MR.    TARBOX    LS    OBSTINATE 

"TT1ARLY  on  Wednesday  morning,  eleven 
Fj  days  from  the  date  of  sailing,  the  good 
steamer  which  bore  our  hero  as  passenger, 
steamed  into  the  harbor  of  Liverpool.  As  may 
readily  be  supposed,  Frank  was  on  deck,  gazing 
with  eager  expectation  at  the  great  city  be 
fore  him,  with  its  solid  docks,  and  the  indi 
cations  of  its  wide-spreading  commerce. 

"  Well,  Frank,  we  are  almost  there,"  said 
Colonel  Sharpley. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Isn't  it  glorious  !"  exclaimed  our 
hero,  with  enthusiasm. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  glorious,"  said  a 
voice  at  his  side. 

The  speaker  was  Mr.  Tarbox,  of  Squash- 
boro',  State  o'  Maine. 

"Don't  you  like  it,  Mr.  Tarbox?"  asked 
Frank. 


134  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Liverpool  ain't  a  circumstance  to  New 
York,"  said  the  Yankee,  with  patriotic  pride. 
"  New  York's  bister  and  finer  than  this  town 

oo 

ever  will  see." 

"  I  don't  care  whether  it's  bigger  or  not," 
said  Frank.  "  It's  jolly  being  here.  What  a 
splendid  time  I  mean  to  have." 

"  Enjoy  yourself  while  you  may,'7  said 
Sharpley  to  himself.  "  Your  time  is  short." 

"  What  tavern  are  you  goin'  to  put  up  at  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Tarbox. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Frank.  "  Perhaps 
Colonel  Sharpley  can  tell  you." 

Sharpley  turned  around,  and  looked  at  the 
Yankee  superciliously. 

"  I  really  have  not  decided,"  he  said. 

"  I  thought  I'd  like  to  put  up  at  the  same," 
said  Mr.  Tarbox,  "  seein'  as  I  know  you. 
May  be  we  might  ride  in  the  same  carriage  to 
the  tavern." 

"  I  prefer  not  to  add  to  my  party,  sir,"  said 
Colonel  Sharpley,  frigidly. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  flare  up,"  said  Jonathan 
Tarbox,  coolly.  "  I'm  willin'  to  pay  my  share 
of  the  bill." 


MR.  TARBOX  IS  OBSTINATE.  135 

"  I  must  decline  making  any  arrangement 
with  you,  sir,"  said  Sharpley  as  he  moved 
away. 

"  Kinder  offish,  ain't  he  ?"  said  Mr.  Tarbox, 
addressing  Frank. 

"  He  seems  a  little  so,"  said  Frank  ;  "  but 
I  hope,  Mr.  Tarbox,  you  won't  think  I  am 
unwilling  to  be  in  your  company." 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  the  Yankee,  cordially. 
"  You  ain't  a  bit  stuck  up.  I'd  like  to  let  that 
chap  know  that  I'm  as  good  as  he  is,  if  he 
does  call  himself  colonel." 

"No  doubt  of  it." 

"And  if  I  can  only  make  my  plow  go, 
Til  1)0  rich  some  day." 

"  I  hope  you  will,  Mr.  Tarbox." 

"  So  do  I.  Do  you  know  what  I'll  do  then  ?" 

"What?" 

"You  see,  there's  a  gal  in  our  town  ;  her 
name  is  Sally  Sprague,  and  she's  about  the 
nicest  gal  I  ever  sot  eyes  on.  Ef  things  goes 
well  with  me,  that  gal  will  have  a  chance  to 
be  Mrs.  Tarbox,"  said  Jonathan,  energetically. 

"  I  hope  she  will,"  said  Frank,  in  amused 
sympathy. 


136  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL, 

"I  like  you — I  do!"  said  Mr.  Tarbox 
"  Ef  ever  I  git  a  chance  to  do  you  a  good 
turn,  I'll  do  it." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Tarbox.  I  am  sorry 
Colonel  Sharpley  was  rude  to  you." 

"  I  can  stand  it,"  said  Jonathan  ;  "  and  I 
mean  to  go  to  the  same  tavern,  too." 

The  custom-house  officials  came  on  board 
and  examined  the  luggage.  This  over,  the 
passengers  were  permitted  to  land.  On  shore 
they  encountered  a  crowd  of  hack  men. 

"  To  the  St.  George  Hotel/'  said  Colonel 
Sharpley,  selecting  one  of  the  number.  "  Here, 
Frank,  get  in." 

Just  behind  was  Mr.  Tarbox,  standing 
guard  over  a  dilapidated  trunk  and  a  green 
chest,  the  latter  of  which  contained  his  pre 
cious  plow. 

"  Have  a  cab,  sir  ?"  asked  a  short,  stout 
hackman. 

"  What  are  you  goin'  to  charge  ?"  asked 
Jonathan. 

"  Where  do  you  want  me  to  drive,  sir  ?" 

"  St.  George  Tavern.  Oh,  stop  a  minute. 
Do  they  pile  up  the  prices  steep  there  ?" 


ME.  TAEBOX  IS  OBSTINATE,  137 

"  It's  reasonable,  sir." 

"  That's  all  I  want.  I  ain't  goin'  to  pay  no 
fancy  prices.  How  much  are  you  goin'  to 
charge  for  carryin'  me  there  ?" 

"  Haifa  crown,  sir." 

"  What  in  thunder's  half  a  crown  ?" 

"  Ain't  he  precious  green  ?"  thought  cabby. 
But  he  answered,  respectfully  : 

"  It's  two-and-six,  sir." 

"  Two  dollars  and  six  cents  ?" 

"  No,  sir  ;  two  shillings  and  sixpence." 

"It's  too  much." 

"  Eeg'lar  price." 

"  I  don't  believe  it.  Here,  you  other  chap," 
beckoning  to  another  cabman,  "what'll  you 
charge  to  take  me  to  the  St.  George  Tavern  ?" 

This  brought  the  first  cabby  to  terms. 

"  Jump  in,  sir.  I'll  take  you  round  for  two 
shillin's,"  he  said. 

"All  right,"  said  Jonathan.  "  I'll  help 
you  with  that  chist.  Now  put  her  over  the 
road.  I'm  hungry,  and  want  some  vittles." 

Five  minutes  after  Frank  arrived  at  the 
St.  George  with  his  guardian,  Mr.  Tarbox 
drove  up,  bag  and  baggage. 


138  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  You  see  I'm  here  most  as  soon  as  you," 
said  Tarbox,  nodding.  "  We  ain't  separated 
yet.  It's  a  pooty  nice  tavern,  Mr.  Sharpley," 
accosting  Frank's  guardian  with  easy  forget 
ful  ness  of  the  latter's  repellant  manner. 

"What  is  your  object  in  following  us,  sir?" 
asked  Sharpley,  frigidly. 

"  You  haven't  engaged  this  tavern  all  to 
yourself,  have  you  ?"  demanded  Jonathan. 
"  Ain't  it  free  to  other  travelers  ?" 

Sharpley  saw  the  other  had  him  at  advan 
tage. 

"  Didn't  you  come  here  because  we  were 
here?"  he  asked. 

"May  be  I  did,  and  then  again  may  be  I 
didn't,"  the  other  replied.  "There  ain't  any 
law  asfin  it,  is  there  ?" 

O 

"  I  should  hardly  suppose  you  would  wish 
to  thrust  yourself  into  the  society  of  those 
who  don't  want  you." 

"  I  won't  run  up  no  bills  on  your  account/' 
said  Mr.  Tarbox  ;  "but  I'm  goin' just  where 
I  please,  even  if  you  are  there  already.  Frank 
here  ain't  no  way  troubled  about  it." 

"  Frank,  as   you   call    him,  is  under    my 


MR.  TARBOX  IS  OBSTINATE.  139 

guardianship/'  said  Mr.  Sharpley,  with  a 
sneer.  "  I  don't  wish  him  to  associate  with 
improper  persons." 

"  Do  you  call  me  an  improper  person  ?" 
demanded  Mr.  Tarbox,  offended. 

"  You  can  draw  your  own  inferences,  Mr. 
— I  really  don't  know  who." 

"  Tarbox,  of  Squashboro',  State  o'   Maine." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Tarbox,  of  Squashboro',  State 
o'  Maine,  I  have  already  wasted  as  much  time 
as  I  choose  to  do  on  you,  and  must  close  the 
conversation." 

"  All  right,  sir.  You'd  better  shut  up 
Frank  in  a  glass  case,  if  you  don't  want  him 
to  associate  with  any  improper  persons." 

But  Colonel  Sharpley  had  turned  on  his 
heel  and  moved  away. 

"  I  can't  have  that  fellow  following  us 
everywhere,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  The  task 
I  have  before  me  is  one  which  demands 
secrecy,  in  order  to  avert  all  suspicion  in  case 
anything  happens.  This  inquisitive,  prying 
Yankee  may  spoil  all.  He  won't  take  a  hint, 
and  I  suspect  it  would  be  dangerous  to  try  a 
kick.  The  trouble  with  these  Yankees  is 


140  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

that  they  are  afraid  of  nothing,  and  are  bent 
on  carrying  out  their  own  purposes,  however 
disagreeable  to  others.  I  must  ask  Frank 
about  this  fellow  and  his  plans.'7 

"  Frank,"  he  commenced,  when  they  wrere 
alone,  "  I  must  congratulate  you  on  this 
Yankee  friend  of  yours.  He  has  fastened  on 
us  like  a  leech." 

"  He  is  a  good-natured  fellow,"  said 
Frank. 

"  He  is  an  impudent  scoundrel !"  said 
Sharpley,  impatiently. 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that.  He  is  not  used  to  the 
ways  of  the  world,  and  he  seems  to  have  taken 
a  fancy  to  me." 

"  He  ought  to  see  that  his  company's  not 
wanted." 

"  He  is  not  disagreeable  to  me.  I  am  rather 
amused  by  his  odd  ways  and  talk." 

"  I  am  not.  He  is  confoundedly  dis 
agreeable  to  me.  We  must  shake  him  off. 
We  can't  have  him  following  us  all  over 
Europe." 

"  He  won't  do  that.  He  is  going  to  the 
Paris  Exposition." 


MR.  TARBOX  IS  OBSTINATE.  141 

"  What's  lie  going  to  do  there — exhibit 
himself?" 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  Frank,  good  humor- 
edly.  "  He's  invented  a  plow  that  will  take 
the  shine  off  all  others,  so  he  says.  So  he  will 
be  detained  there  for  some  time." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that ;  but  I  mean  to 
get  rid  of  him  beforehand.  When  we  leave 
here  we  mustn't  tell  where  we  are  going." 

"  I  can't,"  answered  Frank  ;  "  for  I  don't 
know,  unless  it  is  to  London." 

"  Then  I  won't  tell  you,  or  you  might  let 
it  out  accidentally." 

Meanwhile,  Jonathan,  who  had  ordered 
a  couple  of  chops,  was  sitting  in  the  cof 
fee-room,  making  a  vigorous  onslaught  upon 
them. 

"  I  wonder  what  makes  that  Sharpley  so 
skittish  about  me  and  Frank  bein'  together  ?" 
he  thought.  "  He  needn't  think  I  want  to 
stick  near  him.  I  wouldn't  give  half  a  cent 
for  his  company.  But  that  boy's  a  good  sort 
of  a  chap  and  a  gentleman.  I'll  keep  him  in 
sight  if  I  can." 


142  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AN   ADVENTURE   IN   LONDON. 

next  day  Slmrpley  took  advantage  of 
JL  Mr.  Tarbox's  temporary  absence  from 
the  hotel  to  hurry  Frank  off  to  the  London 
train. 

"  I  hope  we  have  seen  the  last  of  that  in 
trusive  Yankee,"  said  Sharpley  to  our  hero, 
when  they  were  fairly  installed  in  the  railway 
carriage. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  bidden  him  good- 
by,"  said  Frank. 

"  You  can  associate  with  him  as  much  as 
you  like  after  we  have  parted  company,"  said 
Sharpley.  "  But,  for  my  part,  I  don't  want 
to  see  anything  of  him." 

"  I  wonder  what  makes  him  so  prejudiced," 
thought  Frank.  "  It  can't  be  because  he  is  a 
Yankee,  for  I  am  a  Yankee,  myself,  and  yet 
he  takes  the  trouble  of  looking  after  me." 


AN  ADVENTUKE  IN  LONDON.        143 

Sharpley  was  not  very  social.  He  bought 
a  paper,  and  spent  most  of  the  time  in 
reading. 

But  Frank  did  not  find  the  time  hang 
heavily  upon  his  hands.  He  was  in  England, 
that  wras  his  glad  thought.  On  either  side,  as 
the  train  sped  along,  was  spread  out  a  beau 
tiful  English  landscape,  and  his  eyes  were 
never  tired  of  watching  it. 

To  Sharpley  there  was  no  novelty  in  the 
scene.  He  had  enough  to  think  of  in  his 
past  life — enough  to  occupy  his  mind  in 
planning  how  to  carry  out  his  present  wicked 
designs  upon  the  life  of  the  innocent  boy  at 
his  side. 

At  last  they  reached  London,  and  drove  in 
a  hansom  to  a  quiet  hotel,  located  in  one  of 
the  streets  leading  from  the  Strand,  a  busi 
ness  thoroughfare  well  known  to  all  who  have 
ever  visited  the  great  metropolis. 

"  How  long  are  we  going  to  stay  in  London, 
Colonel  Sharpley?"  asked  Frank. 

"  Two  or  three  days.  I  can't  tell  exactly 
how  long." 

"  That  will  be  rather  a  short  time  to  see  so 


144  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

large  a  city,"  returned  Frank,  considerably 
disappointed. 

"  I  am  in  a  hurry  to  go  to  the  continent," 
was  the  reply.  "  We  can  stop  here  longer  on 
our  return." 

With  this  Frank  was  forced  to  be  content, 
though  he  would  have  preferred  to  remain  in 
London  long  enough  now  to  see  the  principal 
objects  of  interest. 

There  was,  he  could  not  help  remarking,  a 
considerable  difference  in  Colonel  Sharpley's 
manner  from  that  which  he  exhibited  when 
he  first  called  upon  his  step-father.  Then  he 
was  very  social  and  agreeable ;  now  he  was 
taciturn,  and  at  times  sullen  and  irritable. 
Whatever  the  reason  might  be,  the  change 
was  very  marked. 

"  Perhaps  he  has  some  business  that  annoys 
him,"  thought  Frank,  charitably.  "  I  will 
give  him  as  little  trouble  as  possible.  But  for 
his  kind  offer,  I  should  not  have  my  present 
chance  of  seeing  foreign  countries." 

The  next  morning  Sharpley  said : 

"  Frank,  you  must  wander  around  by  your 
self,  as  I  have  business  to  attend  to." 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  LONDON.        145 

"  All  right,  sir,"  said  Frank. 

In  fact,  he  was  rather  pleased  with  the  idea 
of  finding  his  own  way  in  the  great  city  of 
which  he  had  heard  so  much,  and  which  he 
had  just  entered  as  a  stranger.  He  felt  a  little 
like  the  celebrated  explorer,  Dr.  Livingstone, 
as  he  set  out  to  explore  a  region  as  new  and 
blind  to  him  as  the  mysterious  tracts  of  Cen 
tral  Africa  to  the  older  traveler.  But  he  had 
this  advantage  over  the  eminent  doctor,  that, 
whereas  the  latter  had  no  maps  or  charts  to 
guide  him,  he  was  able  for  the  small  sum  of 
an  English  shilling,  or  about  twenty-five 
cents,  to  obtain  a  map  of  London. 

When  his  eye  glanced  for  the  first  time 
over  the  labyrinth,  he  felt  bewildered  and 
lost,  but  after  a  short  time  he  made  up  his 
mind  what  course  to  take,  and  found  his  way 
to  Charing  Cross,  and  from  thence  to  Picca 
dilly,  Rupert  Street,  and  the  parks. 

Time  flew  by,  and  in  the  delight  of  the 
ever-recurring  novelty,  he  found  that  it  was 
two  o'clock. 

He  stepped  into  a  pastry-cook's  to  get  some 
lunch. 

10 


146  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

Then  lie  hailed  a  passing  stage,  and  rode  a 
long  distance,  but  whether  he  was  near  or  far 
from  his  hotel  he  could  not  tell. 

He  decided  to  leave  the  stage,  and  inquire 
in  some  shop  near  by  where  lie  was,  and  then, 
by  examining  his  map,  ascertain  the  most  di 
rect  course  to  his  hotel. 

As  he  reached  the  sidewalk,  a  little  girl  of 
ten  years,  apparently,  with  a  thin,  sad  face, 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  him.  She  said  nothing, 
but  there  was  a  mute  appeal  in  her  look  which 
Frank,  who  was  by  nature  compassionate, 
could  not  resist. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  little  girl  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Mother  is  sick,  and  we  have  nothing  to 
eat,"  answered  the  little  girl,  sorrowfully. 

"  Have  you  no  father  ?" 

"  He  has  gone  away." 

"Where?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Has  your  mother  been  sick  long  ?" 

"  She  made  herself  sick  working  so  hard  to 
buy  us  bread." 

"  Then  you  are  not  the  only  child,"  in 
quired  Frank. 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  LONDON.        147 

"  I  have  a  little  sister,  four  years  old." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?" 

"  I  am  ten." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Alice  Craven." 

The  announcement  of  her  name  made 
Frank  start. 

"  What !"  he  exclaimed,  for,  except  his 
step-father,  he  had  never  till  now  met  anyone 
by  that  name. 

"Alice  Craven,"  answered  the  little  girl, 
supposing  he  had  not  understood  aright. 

"  Where  does  your  mother  live  ?"  asked 
Frank. 

"  In  Hurst  court." 

"  Is  it  far  from  here  ?" 

"  Only  about  five  minutes' walk." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Frank,  with 
sudden  resolution,  "  and  if  I  find  your  mother 
is  as  badly  off  as  you  say,  I  will  give  you 
something.1' 

"  Come,  then,  sir ;  I  will  show  you  the  way." 

Frank  followed  the  little  girl  till  he  found 
himself  in  a  miserable  court,  shut  in  by 
wretched  tenements.  Alice  entered  one  of  the 


148  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

dirtiest  of  these,  and  Frank  followed  her  up 
a  rickety  staircase  to  the  fourth  floor.  Here, 
his  guide  opened  a  door  and  led  the  way  into 
a  dark  room,  almost  bare  of  furniture,  where, 
upon  a  bed  in  the  corner,  lay  a  wan,  atten 
uated  woman.  Beside  her  sat  the  little  girl 
of  four  to  whom  Alice  had  referred. 

"  Mother,"  said  Alice,  "  here  is  a  kind 
young  gentleman,  who  has  come  to  help  us." 

"  Heaven  bless  him  !"  said  the  woman,  fee 
bly.  "  We  are  in  dire  want  of  help." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  sick  ?"  asked 
Frank,  compassionately. 

"  It  is  long  since  I  have  been  well,"  an 
swered  the  invalid,  "  but  I  have  been  able  to 
work  till  two  weeks  since.  For  two  weeks  I 
have  earned  nothing,  and,  but  for  the  neigh 
bors,  I  and  my  two  poor  children  would  have 
starved." 

"  Is  your  husband  dead  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  He  left  me  three  years 
ago,  and  I  have  never  seen  him  since." 

"  Did  he  desert  you  ?"  asked  Frank,  indig 
nantly.  "  Did  he  leave  you  to  shift  for  your 
self?" 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  LONDON.        149 

"  He  promised  to  come  back,  but,  he  lias 
never  come/'  said  the  woman,  sighing. 

"  Your  little  girl  tells  me  your  name  is 
Craven." 

"  Yes,  sir.     That  is  my  husband's  name." 

"  I  know  a  gentleman  by  that  name." 

"  Where  ?"  asked  the  invalid,  eagerly. 

"  In  America,  But  it  cannot  be  your  hus 
band,"  he  added,  quickly,  not  caring  to  excite 
hope  in  the  poor  woman's  breast,  only  to  be 
succeeded  by  disappointment,  "  for  he  has  a 
wife  there.  I  didn't  know  but  it  might  be 
your  husband's  brother." 

"  My  husband  had  no  brother,"  said  the 
woman,  sinking  back,  her  momentary  hope 
extinguished.  "Oh,  if  he  only  knew  how 
hard  it  has  been  for  me  to  struggle  for  food 
for  these  poor  children,  he  would  surely  come 
back." 

Frank's  heart  was  filled  with  pity.  He 
drew  from  his  pocket  two  gold  sovereigns, 
and  placed  them  in  the  hands  of  Alice. 

"It  won't  last  you  long,"  he  said,  "but  it 
will  give  you  some  relief." 

"Bless  you,  bless  you!"  said  the  invalid, 


150  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

gratefully.  "  It  will  keep  us  till  I  am  well 
again  and  can  work  for  my  children.  What 
is  your  name,  generous,  noble  boy  ?" 

"  Frank  Hunter,"  said  our  hero,  modestly  ; 
"  but  don't  think  too  much  of  what  I  have 
done.  I  shall  fare  no  worse  for  parting  with 
this  money." 

"  I  will  remember  you  in  my  prayers,"  said 
Mrs.  Craven.  "  So  young  and  so  generous !" 

"  Give  me  your  address,  Mrs.  Craven,  and 
when  I  am  in  London  again  I  will  come  and 
see  you." 

"  No.  10  Hurst  Court,"  said  the  invalid. 

"  I  will  put  it  down." 

Frank  now  left  the  court,  and,  as  it  was 
late,  hailed  a  cab,  and  was  soon  set  down  in 
front  of  his  hotel. 

"  Where  have  you  been  so  long,"  asked 
Sharpley.  "  It  is  past  three  o'clock." 

"  I  went  about  seeing  the  sights,"  said 
Frank.  "  I  saw  the  parks,  and  Buckingham 
Palace,  and  Regent  Street ;  but  I  have  just 
left  a  poor  woman  who  was  very  destitute, 
whom  I  visited  in  her  miserable  room.  Oddly 
enough,  her  name  was  Craven." 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  LONDON.        151 

"  Craven,"  repeated  Sharpley,  liis  attention 
at  once  roused. 

"Yes;  she  Lad  two  children,  the  oldest, 
Alice,  a  girl  of  ten." 

"  Great  Heaven  !"  ejaculated  Sharpley. 

Frank  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  I  daresay  they  were  humbugs,"  said 
Sharpley.  "  Did  you  give  them  any  money  ?" 

"  Two  sovereigns  ;  but  I  am  sure  they  were 
not  humbugs." 

" '  A  fool  and  his  money  are  soon  parted,' ' 
sneered    Sharpley.       "  Where    did    you    find 
them  ?" 

"No.  10  Hurst  Court," 

"  I  advise  you  not  to  be  so  ready  to  part 
with  your  money  the  next  time.  I'll  wager 
they  are  i  in  posters," 

"  What  cursed  chance  brought  him  in  con 
tact  with  these  people  ?"  said  Sharpley  to  him 
self  after  Frank  had  left  him  to  arrange  his 
toilet.  "  He  little  dreams  that  the  woman  he 
has  relieved  is  the  true  wife  of  the  man  who 
has  married  his  mother." 


152  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL, 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

COLONEL  SHARPLEY'S  RUSE. 

IATER  in  the  day  Mr.  Sharpley  found  his 
J  way  to  Hurst  Court,  and  paused  before 
Number  10.  Though  a  selfish  man,  he  was 
not  without  feeling,  and  the  miserable  quar 
ters  in  which  he  found  his  sister  excited  his 
pity.  He  made  inquiry  of  some  of  the  lower 
tenants,  and  soon  stood  at  his  sister's  door. 
Without  waiting  to  knock,  he  opened  the  door 
and  stepped  in. 

The  sick  woman  looked  up  mechanically, 
supposing  it  to  be  a  neighbor  who  had  been 
kind  to  her.  But  when  she  recognized  her 
brother,  she  uttered  a  feeble  cry  of  joy. 

"Oh,  Robert,  have  you  come  back  ?"  she 
cried.  "  How  long  it  is  since  I  have  seen 
you  !" 

He  was  shocked  at  her  wan  and  wasted 
appearance. 


COLONEL  SHAEPLEY'S  EUSE.  153 

"  Helen,"  he  said,  taking  a  seat  beside  the 
bed,  "  you  look  very  sick." 

"  No,  Robert,  not  very  sick.  It  is  only  the 
effect  of  overwork  and  scanty  food." 

"  That  is  enough.  How  long  have  you 
been  sick  ?" 

"  A  fortnight.  Things  looked  very  dark 
for  me.  I  feared  my  poor  children  would 
starve,  but  this  morning  a  noble  boy,  whom 
Providence  must  have  sent  to  me  in  my  ex 
tremity,  gave  me  two  sovereigns,  and  they 
will  last  me  till  I  am  well.  But  where  have 
you  been,  Robert?" 

"  I  have  been  to  America." 

"And  did  you — did  you  see  anything  of 
rny  husband?"  she  asked,  fixing  her  eyes 
anxiously  upon  him. 

"  Do  you  think  of  him  still  ?  He  does 
not  deserve  it.  He  has  treated  you  like  a 
scoundrel." 

"  I  know  he  has  not  treated  me  right, 
Robert,  but  he  is  the  father  of  my  children. 
Then  you  did  not  find  him  ?" 

"  I  obtained  a  clew,"  said  Sharpley,  eva 
sively.  "  It  may  or  may  not  lead  to  anything. 


154  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

I  am  about  to  leave  London  now  on  a  journey 
connected  with  that  clew.  If  it  results  in 
anything,  I  will  let  you  know." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?" 

"On  the  Continent.  I  cannot  say  pre 
cisely  where,  but  you  will  hear  from  me. 
But  what  a  hole  you  are  living  in,"  and  he 
looked  around  him  in  disgust  at  the  bare 
walls  and  naked  condition  of  the  miserable 
room. 

"  I  don't  mind  it,  Robert.  I  feel  glad  to 
have  the  shelter  of  any  roof." 

"  Have  you  been  so  poor  ?" 

"So  poor  that  I  could  not  well  be  poorer." 

"  Come,  this  must  be  remedied.  I  am  not 
rich,  but  I  can  do  something  for  you.  To 
morrow  morning  I  will  move  you  to  a  better 
room.  Do  you  think  you  can  bear  to  be 
moved  ?" 

"  Yes,  brother.  You  are  very  kind,"  mur 
mured  the  sick  woman,  not  aware  that  her 
brother's  motives  were  complex,  and  that  his 
chief  reason  for  the  removal  was  not  dictated 
by  sympathy  or  pity. 

"  Then  I  shall  be  here  to-morrow  at  ten, 


COLONEL  SHARPLEY'S  RUSE.  155 

with  a  cab.  You  must  all  of  you  be  ready. 
By  the  way,  do  you  know  any  of  the  people 
in  the  house  ?" 

"Yes;  they  are  poor,  but  some  of  them 
have  been  kind  to  me." 

"  Don't  let  them  know  where  you  are 
moving  to?"  said  Sharpley. 

"  Not  let  them  know !"  repeated  Mrs. 
Craven,  in  surprise.  "  Why  not  ?" 

"  I  have  a  reason,  but  I  don't  want  to  tell 
you." 

"  I  don't  understand  it,  Robert.  What 
harm  can  it  do  ?" 

Sharpley  bit  his  lip.  He  was  annoyed  by 
her  persistency,  but  he  was  not  prepared  to 
give  the  real  reason.  Fortunately,  a  plausible 
explanation  occurred  to  him. 

"  Listen,  sister,"  he  said.  "  You  have  an 
enemy." 

"An  enemy !" 

"  Yes,  who  is  trying  to  find  you  out.  He 
has  a  clew,  and  if  you  remain  here  he  may 
succeed." 

"  But  how  can  I  have  an  enemy,  and  what 
could  he  do  to  me  ?" 


156  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"Suppose  he  should  kidnap  one  of  your 
children  ?" 

The  suggestion  was  made  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment,  but  the  effect  was  immediate. 
The  poor  woman  turned  pale — paler  even 
than  before — and  trembled. 

"  Say  no  more,  Robert,"  she  answered.  "  I 
will  promise." 

"  You  promise  to  let  no  one  of  your  neigh 
bors  know  where  you  are  going?" 

"Yes.  But,  Robert,  is  it  my  husband — is 
it  Mr.  Craven  who  is  in  search  of  me  ?" 

"  Ask  no  more,"  said  Sharpley.  "  You  may 
know  some  time,  but  I  have  told  you  all  I 
wish  you  at  present  to  know.  But  I  must  be 
going.  To-morrow,  at  ten,  remember." 

"  I  will  be  ready." 

"  Cleverly  managed !"  said  Sharpley  to 
himself.  "  I  must  take  care  that  that  boy 
does  not  meet  my  sister  again.  The  name  has 
already  struck  him.  If  he  sees  her  again  he 
may  come  to  suspect  the  truth,  and  suspicion 
once  aroused,  he  may  suspect  me." 

He  didn't  at  once  return  to  the  hotel,  but 
going  to  a  part  of  London  two  miles  distant, 


COLONEL  SHAEPLEY'S  RUSE.  157 

engaged  a  somewhat  better  lodging  for  his 
sister.  The  next  morning  he  went  to  Hurst 
Court,  and,  finding  her  ready,  moved  her  at 
once  to  her  new  home. 

"  How  kind  you  are,  Robert !"  she  said. 

"  I  would  do  more  if  I  had  the  means.  I 
may  be  richer  soon.  I  have  a  good  prospect 
before  me,  but  it  requires  me  to  go  away  for 
a  time." 

"  How  long  will  you  be  gone  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell.  It  may  be  a  month;  it  may 
be  two  or  three.  I  have  paid  the  rent  of  this 
lodging  for  three  months  in  advance.  There 
is  the  receipt." 

She  looked  at  it  mechanically,  then  handed 
it  back. 

"  This  is  not  the  receipt,"  she  said.  "  The 
name  is  wrong." 

"  How  is  it  wrong  ?" 

"It  is  made  out  to  Mrs.  Chipman." 

"  It  is  the  right  paper." 

"  But  my  name  is  not  Mrs.  Chipman." 

"  Yes,  it  is." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Robert  ?"  asked  his 
sister,  lifting  her  eyes  in  surprise. 


158  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Just  what  I  say.  I  want  you  to  be  Mrs. 
Chipman." 

"  But  why  should  I  give  up  my  name  ?" 

"  Do  you  remember  what  I  told  you  yester 
day — about  the  man  who  was  on  your  track?" 

"  You  didn't  say  it  was  a  man." 

"  Well,  I  say  so  now." 

"  Well,  Robert  ?" 

"  He  will  find  it  harder  to  trace  you  if  you 
change  your  name." 

"  If  you  think  it  right,  Robert,  I  will  be 
guided  by  your  advice." 

"  I  do  think  it  best  for  reasons  which  I 
cannot  fully  explain.  You  must  tell  your 
children,  also." 

"  I  will  do  so." 

"  Have  you  any  of  the  money  that  boy  gave 
you?" 

"  I  have  nearly  all." 

"  Here  are  three  sovereigns  more.  With 
your  rent  paid  for  three  months,  if  you  use  it 
economically,  you  will  not  again  be  reduced 
to  destitution." 

"  I  shall  feel  rich  with  so  much  money/' 
said  Mrs.  Craven,  smiling  faintly. 


COLONEL  SHAEPLEY'S  RUSE.  159 

"  Take  care  that  you  are  not  robbed." 

"  I  will  be  careful.  But  it  seems  strange 
to  me  that  I  should  have  occasion  for  any 
fears." 

"  Before  the  three  months  are  over,  I  shall 
probably  be  back  in  London.  I  will  come  to 
you  at  once,  and  let  you  know  if  I  have  heard 
anything." 

"  Thank  you,  Robert.  Good-by,  then,  for 
the  present." 

"  Good-by.    I  hope  you  will  soon  be  well." 

"  I  shall.  It  was  anxiety  for  my  children 
that  was  wearing  upon  me.  Now,  thanks  to 
your  kindness,  I  am  easy  in  mind.  But, 
brother,  there  is  one  question  I  forgot  to  ask. 
How  came  you  to  know  that  I  lived  at  Hurst 
Court  ?" 

Sharpley  was  posed  for  a  moment,  and 
knew  not  what  to  say.  He  could  not,  of  course, 
tell  the  truth  ;  but  he  was  a  man  fertile  in 
suggestions,  and  he  was  silent  for  a  moment 
only. 

"  I  employed  a  detective,"  he  answered. 
'l  These  London  detectives  are  wonderfully 
sharp.  He  soon  found  you  out." 


160  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"And  you  took  all  this  trouble  about 
me,"  said  Mrs.  Craven,  gratefully,  not  for 
a  moment  doubting  the  accuracy  of  the 
story. 

"  Is  it  strange  that  I  should  take  the  trouble 
to  find  my  only  sister  ?  But  I  cannot  delay 
longer.  Good-by,  Helen." 

He  stooped  and  lightly  touched  her  cheek 
with  his  lips,  and  hurried  from  the  room. 

"  There,"  he  said  to  himself,  after  reach 
ing  the  street ;  "  I  have  cut  off  all  possibility 
of  a  second  meeting  between  Frank  and  my 
sister  during  the  brief  remainder  of  our  stay 
in  London.  When  I  come  back  it  will  be 
alone !" 

Four  days  afterward  they  left  London  for 
Paris.  The  day  before,  Frank  made  his  way 
again  to  Hurst  Court,  meaning  to  leave  a  lit 
tle  more  money  with  Mrs.  Craven,  question 
ing  her  at  the  same  time  about  her  husband, 
whom  he  could  not  help  connecting  in  some 
way  with  his  step-father.  But  his  visit  was 
made  in  vain.  Mrs.  Craven  had  disappeared, 
and  not  one  of  the  tenants  could  say  where 
she  had  gone :  but  all  agreed  that  she  had 


COLONEL  SHARPLEY'S  RUSE.  161 

been  taken  away  in  a  cab  by  a  tall  gentle 
man.  It  seemed  mysterious,  but  no  suspicion 
as  to  the  identity  of  the  gentleman  entered 
Frank's  mind. 

"  I  hope  she  has  found  a  friend  able  to  help 
her,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  then  dismissed 
the  subject  from  his  mind. 


11 


162  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MR.    TARBOX   AT   THE    PARIS    EXPOSITION. 

'  '  QO  this  is  Paris,"  said  Frank  to  himself, 
O  as  he  rode  into  the  court-yard  of  the 
Hotel  de  Rivoli,  situated  on  the  fine  street  of 
the  same  name. 

He  had  already,  from  the  carriage  window, 
obtained  a  good  view  of  the  palace  of  the 
Tuileries,  occupied  at  that  time  by  Louis  Na 
poleon,  in  the  plentitude  of  his  power,  and  of 
the  large  garden  which  it  faces.  The  sun  was 
shining  brightly,  and  as  he  glanced  at  the 
signs  on  either  side  of  the  streets  through 
which  he  passed,  he  realized,  even  more 
clearly  than  on  English  soil,  that  he  was  in  a 
foreign  country. 

"  What  a  beautiful  city !"  he  exclaimed, 
turning  to  his  companion. 

"  Humph !  so,  so,"  said  Sharpley,  in  a  tone 
quite  devoid  of  enthusiasm. 


ME.  TAEBOX  AT  THE  PAEIS  EXPOSITION.       163 

"  I   suppose   you   have    been    here   before, 
Colonel  Sharpley?" 

"  Often." 

"  But  it  is  new  to  me ;  so  I  suppose  it  strikes 


me  more." 


"It  is  always  enjoyed  best  the  first  time. 
Can  you  speak  French  ?" 

"  A  little.  I  can  read  the  language  pretty 
well.  Shall  we  stay  here  long?" 

"  I  can't  tell  yet." 

The  exhibition  was  open,  and  the  city  was 
full  to  overflowing.  They  were  compelled  to 
take  rooms  high  up,  the  most  desirable  being 
already  occupied.  But  for  this  Frank  cared 
little.  He  was  in  Paris;  he  was  going  to  see 
its  wonders,  and  this  thought  filled  him  with 
happiness. 

The  next  day  they  went  to  the  exhibition 
together,  but  Colonel  Sharpley  soon  tired  of 
it.  After  an  hour,  he  turned  to  Frank,  say 


ing  : 


''  Do  you  want  to  stay  longer?" 
"  Yes  ;  I  have  scarcely  seen  anything  yet." 
"  I  suppose  you  can  find  your  way  back  to 
the  hotel  ?" 


164  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Ob,  yes." 

"  Then  I  will  go  out.  I  don't  care  much 
for  this  sort  of  thing." 

So  Frank  wandered  on  alone — alone,  but 
surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  all  nationalities, 
visitors  like  himself  to  the  great  exhibition. 
On  all  sides  he  was  surrounded  by  triumphs 
of  art  and  skill  gathered  from  all  parts  of 
the  world. 

"  I  wish  I  had  some  friend  with  me,"  he 
thought.  "  It's  a  splendid  sight,  but  I  should 
enjoy  it  better  if  I  had  somebody  I  liked  to 
talk  to.  Wouldn't  it  be  jolly  if  Ben  Cameron 
were  here!  How  he  would  enjoy  it!  Poor 
fellow  !  he's  got  his  own  way  to  make  in  the 
world — though  I  don't  know  as  that  is  much 
of  a  misfortune,  after  all.  I  don't  think  I 
would  mind  it,  though,  of  course,  it's  pleasant 
to  have  money." 

As  these  thoughts  passed  through  our  hero's 
mind,  he  suddenly  heard  his  name  called  in 
a  loud  voice,  whose  nasal  twang  could  not  be 
mistaken. 

Turning  in  the  direction  from  which  it 
came,  his  face  lighted  up  with  pleasure  as  he 


MR.  TARBOX  AT  THE  PAEIS  EXPOSITION.       165 

recognized  his  fellow-passenger,  Jonathan 
Tarbox. 

The  Yankee,  looking  as  countrified  as  ever 
in  the  midst  of  the  brilliant  scene,  was  stand 
ing  guard  over  his  plow,  which  had  been  put 
together,  and  was  occupying  a  place  assigned 
it  by  the  Committee  of  Arrangements. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Tarbox,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  !" 
said  Frank,  heartily,  hurrying  through  the 
crowd  and  offering  his  hand,  which  was  seized 
in  a  tight  grip.  "  How  long  have  you  been 
here  ?" 

"Three  days,"  said  Jonathan,  "and  I'm 
eenamost  tired  to  death,  standin'  here,  with 
nobody  to  talk  to." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  be  lonely.  I 
have  only  just  come.  Where  are  you  stay- 
ing?" 

"  I  put  up  over  to  the  Latin  Quarter,"  said 
Mr.  Tarbox  ;  "  though  why  they  call  it  Latin, 
when  they  don't  talk  Latin  there,  I  don't 
know.  It's  cheap  livin'  there,  and  I  don't 
want  to  spend  too  much,  There  was  a  feller 
on  the  cars  took  me  in  when  I  jest  come.  As 
I  heard  him  talk  English,  I  asked  him  if  he 


166  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

could  recommend  a  good,  cheap  tavern  for  me 
to  stop  at.  He  told  me  the  best  he  knew  for 
a  cheap  one  was  the  Hotel  de  Villy.  So  I 
hired  a  boy  to  lead  me  there.  It  was  a  big 
walk,  and  when  I  got  there  I  found  the  scamp 
had  sent  me  to  the  town  hall  of  Paris.  I'd 
like  to  give  him  a  lickin' !  But  I  met  another 
chap  that  was  more  polite,  and  he  directed 
me  to  where  I  am.  He  lives  there  himself. 
He  is  a  poor  artist,  and  I've  took  the  room 
jest  opposite  to  his.  Where  are  you  stop- 
pin'?" 

"  At  the  Hotel  Bivoli." 

"  That's  a  hotel  where  the  big-bugs  stop, 
ain't  it — near  Lewis  Napoleon's  house." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so,"  said  Frank,  smiling ; 
"  but  I  don't  claim  to  be  a  big-bug." 

"  That  colonel  you're  traveling  with  sets  up 
for  one.  Is  he  here  ?" 

"  He  is  in  the  city.  He  came  to  the  exhi 
bition  with  me,  but  he  didn't  stop  long.  How 
do  you  like  Paris,  Mr.  Tarbox  ?" 

"  I  really  don't  know,  Frank.  The  streets 
and  buildin's  are  pooty  handsome,  but  they 
do  talk  the  most  outlandish  stuff  I  ever  heercl. 


JONATHAN  TARBOX  GHKETS  AN   OLD   FKIKND. 


ME.  TARBOX  AT  THE  PARIS  EXPOSITION.       167 

They  rattle  off  jest  like  parrots,  and  I  can't 
understand  a  word." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  not  studied  the 
French  language,"  said  Frank,  smiling. 

"  No,  and  I  don't  want  to.  I'd  be  ashamed 
o'  myself  to  talk  like  them.  Why  in  thunder 
don't  they  talk  English?"  asked  Jonathan, 
with  an  expression  of  disgust, 

"I  suppose  they  wonder  that  Americans 
don't  speak  French." 

"Why,  they  do  say  that  young  ones  call 
their  mothers  a  mare,"  continued  Mr.  Tarbox. 
"  That's  what  I  call  sassy,  Ef  I'd  called  my 
mother  a  mare  when  I  was  a  youngster,  she'd 
have  keeled  me  over  quicker'n  a  wink.  Then 
a  gal  is  called  a  filly.  That's  most  as  bad. 
And  what  do  you  think  I  saw  on  the  pro 
gramme  at  the  restorant  where  I  go  to  get 
dinner?" 

"What  was  it?"  asked  Frank,  amused. 

"  It  was  poison,  only  it  wasn't  spelled  right. 
The  ignorant  critters  spelled  it  with  a  double 
s.  I  say  they'd  ought  to  be  indicted  for 
keepin'  p'ison  among  their  vittles." 

"  You  have  made  a  little  mistake,  Mr.  Tar- 


168  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

box.  The  word  you  refer  to — poisson — is  the 
French  word  for  fish." 

"  By  gracious!"  ejaculated  Jonathan  ;  "you 
don't  say  so  !  Then  it's  a  mighty  queer  lan 
guage,  that's  all  I've  got  to  say.  But  speak  in' 
of  eatin',  I  ain't  had  a  decent  meal  of  vittles 
since  I  came  here." 

"  I  am  surprised  to  hear  you  say  that,  Mr. 
Tarbox.  The  French  have  a  high  reputation 
for  their  cookery." 

"  I  can't  help  that.  I  haven't  lived  so 
mean  since  I  was  born." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  because  you  don't  know  the 
names  of  the  dishes  you  want." 

"  Wall,  there  may  be  somethin'  in  that. 
Why,  the  first  day  I  p'inted  to  the  first  thing 
in  the  programme.  It  was  among  the  pot 
tages.  They  brought  me  some  thin,  watery 
stuff  that  would  turn  a  pig  sick.  Somebody 
told  me  it  was  meant  for  soup.  When  my 
mother  made  soup,  she  put  potatoes  and  meat 
in  it,  and  carrots  and  turnips.  Her  soup  was 
satisfy  in',  and  would  stay  a  feller's  stummick. 
It  wa'n't  like  this  thin  stuff.  It  would  take  a 
hogshead  of  it  to  keep  a  baby  alive  till  night." 


MR.  TARBOX  AT  THE  PARIS  EXPOSITION.       169 

"What  else  did  you  get,  Mr.  Tarbox," 
asked  Frank. 

"  I  looked  all  through  the  programme  for 
baked  beans,  and,  would  you  believe  it,  they 
didn't  have  it  at  all." 

"  I  believe  it  is  not  a  French  dish." 

"  Then  the  French  don't  know  what's  good, 
I  can  tell  'em  that.  Folks  say  they  eat  frogs, 
and  it  stands  to  reason  if  they  like  frogs,  and 
don't  like  baked  beans,  they  must  be  an 
ignorant  set.  I  didn't  understand  any  of  the 
darned  names,  but  I  come  across  pommy  de 
terry,  and  I  thought  that  might  be  somethin' 
solid,  so  I  told  the  gossoon  to  bring  it.  What 
do  you  think  he  brought?" 

"  Potatoes." 

"  Yes ;  I  was  so  wild  I  come  near  flinging 
'em  in  his  face,  but  I  concluded  to  keep  'em, 
and  happened  to  see  some  mutton  put  down 
on  the  bill,  though  they  didn't  spell  it  right, 
so  I  pointed  it  out  to  the  gossoon,  and  he 
brought  it.  It  was  pretty  fair,  but  I  tell  you 
my  mother  can  beat  all  the  French  cooks 
that's  goin'.  I  jest  wish  she  was  here." 

"  We  must  go  together  some  time,  Mr.  Tar- 


170  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

box.  I  know  some  French,  and  I  can  tell 
you  the  names  of  some  things  you  like, 
though  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  do  with 
out  baked  beans." 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  with  me,  Frank. 
May  be  I  can  get  along  better  with  you." 

"  How  about  your  invention,  Mr.  Tarbox  ? 
Is  it  attracting  attention  ?" 

"  Nobody  looks  at  it,"  said  Jonathan,  a 
little  depressed.  "  The  ladies  turn  up  their 
noses,  as  if  it  wa'n't  worth  lookin'  at.  One  old 
Frenchman  come  up  arid  began  to  ask  me 
about  it,  but  I  couldn't  make  head  or  tail  of 
what  he  said.  Then  he  offered  me  a  pinch 
of  snuff.  I  saw  he  meant  to  be  polite,  so  I 
took  a  good  dose,  and  'most  sneezed  my  head 
off.  But  about  the  plow  ;  I've  been  thinkin' 
whether  Lewis  Napoleon  would  let  me  plow  a 
few  furrers  in  his  garden,  jest  to  let  the  French 
see  how  it  works.  Do  you  think  he  would  ?" 

"  I  hardly  think  he  would." 

"  You  see,  folks  can't  get  much  idea  about 
it,  jest  lookin'  at  it  here." 

"  You  don't  have  to  stay  by  it  all  the  time, 
do  you  ?" 


ME.  TARBOX  AT  THE  PARIS  EXPOSITION.       171 

"  No." 

"  Then  suppose  you  take  a  little  walk  with 
me  round  the  buildings." 

Being  socially  disposed,  Mr.  Tarbox  ac 
cepted  the  proposal,  and  the  two  sauntered 
about  together,  Frank  being  continually 
amused  by  the  unconsciously  droll  remarks 
of  his  countryman. 


172  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

FRAXK    ASSERTS    HIS    RIGHTS. 

*  *  YTTHO  was  that  you  were  walking  with 
VY  yesterday,  Frank  ?"  asked  Sharp- 
ley. 

"  Mr.  Tarbox." 

"  What,  that  confounded  Yankee?"  ejacu 
lated  Sharpley,  roughly. 

"  What  harm  is  there  in  him  ?"  asked 
Frank,  quietly. 

"  He  is  an  ignorant  barbarian.  Mr.  Craven 
wouldn't  like  to  have  you  associate  with  such 


a  man." 


'*  I  care  very  little  what  Mr.  Craven  would 
like,"  said  Frank. 

"  He  is  your  step-father." 

"  If  he  is,  I  can't  help  it.  I  am  only  re 
sponsible  to  my  mother  for  my  conduct,  and 
she  would  not  object  to  my  keeping  company 
with  a  countryman." 


FRANK  ASSERTS  HIS  EIGHTS.  173 

"  I  shouldn't  want  to  own  it,"  sneered 
Sharpley. 

"Why  not?" 

"  This  Tarbox,  if  that  is  his  name,  is  as 
green  as  his  native  hills,  and  an  ignorant 
boor." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,  Colonel  Sharp- 
ley,"  said  Frank,  undaunted.  "He  is  not 
well  educated,  but  he  has  brains  enough  to 
have  invented  a  plow  of  an  improved  pat 
tern,  which  he  is  exhibiting  here.  He  is 
young  yet,  and  if  he  succeeds  he  will  get 
rid  of  his  awkwardness,  and  may  in  time 
occupy  a  prominent  position  in  the  commu 
nity." 

"  I  don't  approve  of  elevating  the  rab 
ble,"  said  Sharpley ;  "  and  as  you  are  my 
ward,  I  desire  you  not  to  associate  with  this 
Tarbox." 

"  If  you  had  any  good  reason  to  offer, 
Colonel  Sharpley,  or  if  Mr.  Tarbox  were  an 
improper  person,  I  would  obey;  but,  under 
the  present  circumstances,  I  must  decline." 

"  What !  You  dare  to  defy  me !"  ex 
claimed  Sharpley,  who  was  in  a  worse  temper 


174  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

than  usual,  having  lost  money  at  cards  the 
evening  before. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  defy  you,  sir,  but  I  must 
beg  you  to  be  reasonable." 

"  Do  you  dare  insinuate  that  I  am  un 
reasonable?"  said  Sharpley,  advancing  as  if 
to  strike  him. 

Frank  looked  calmly  in  his  face  and  didn't 
shrink.  There  was  something  in  his  eye 
which  prevented  the  blow  from  falling. 
Sharpley  bethought  himself  of  another  way 
of  "  coming  up  with  "  his  rebellious  charge. 

"  If  you  are  going  to  act  in  this  way,"  he 
said,  "  I  shall  send  you  home." 

"  I  don't  propose  to  go  home,  Colonel  Sharp- 
ley,"  said  Frank,  firmly.  "  Now  that  I  am 
here,  I  shall  stay  through  the  summer." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  compel  me  to  keep 
charge  of  you  ?" 

"  No,  sir;  but  since  it  is  a  trouble  to  you, 
I  will  place  myself  under  the  charge  of  Mr. 
Tarbox,  though  I  feel  quite  competent  to  travel 
alone.  If  you  will  place  in  his  hands  what 
funds  you  have  of  mine,  this  will  relieve  you 
of  all  trouble." 


FRANK  ASSERTS  HIS  RIGHTS.  175 

"  The  deuce  it  will !"  thought  Sharpley,  who 
knew  that  such  a  course  would  leave  him  ab 
solutely  helpless  and  penniless. 

He  began  to  see  that  he  had  overshot  the 
mark.  He  would  risk  the  utter  failure  of 
all  his  plans  if  a  separation  should  take  place 
between  them.  So,  though  it  went  against  his 
grain,  he  resolved  to  make  up  with  Frank. 
Forcing  a  smile,  therefore,  he  said : 

"  Are  you  really  anxious  to  leave  me, 
Frank?" 

Our  hero  was  bewildered  by  the  unexpected 
change  of  manner. 

"  I  thought  you  were  tired  of  me,  sir,'1  he 
said.  "  I  am  afraid  I  give  you  trouble  and 
interfere  with  your  plans. " 

"  Not  at  all.  I  am  sorry  if  I  have  given 
you  such  an  impression.  The  fact  is,  I  am 
vexed  and  irritated  at  some  news  I  have  heard, 
and  that  made  me  disposed  to  vent  my  irrita 
tion  on  you." 

"  I  am  sorry,  sir,  if  you  have  had  bad 
news.  Is  it  anything  serious?" 

"  Not  very  serious,"  said  Sharpley  ;  "  but," 
he  added,  with  ready  invention,  "  it  is  vexa- 


176  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

tious  to  hear  that  I  have  lost  a  thousand 
pounds." 

"  Yes ;  that  is  a  serious  loss,"  said  Frank, 
with  sympathy. 

"  It  was  invested,  as  I  thought,  safely  ;  but 
the  concern  proves  to  be  rotten,  and  my  loss 
is  total." 

"  I  hope  it  won't  seriously  inconvenience 
you,  Colonel  Sharpley  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  ;  it  is  fortunately  but  a  small  part 
of  my  fortune,"  said  Sharpley,  with  barefaced 
falsehood.  "  Still,  it  is  annoying.  But  let  it 
pass.  To-morrow  I  shall  feel  all  right.  Mean 
while,  if  you  really  care  to  associate  with  this 
Tarbox,  do  so  by  all  means.  I  confess  he  is 
not  to  my  taste." 

"  He  is  not  a  countryman  of  yours,  sir ;  he 
reminds  me  of  home." 

"  Just  so.  By  the  way,  I  have  letters  for 
you  from  home." 

"  Oh,  give  them  to  me !"  said  Frank, 
eagerly.  "  I  am  longing  to  hear." 

He  eagerly  opened  the  letters.  One,  a  long 
one,  crossed  and  recrossed,  was  from  his  mo 
ther.  I  will  only  quote  one  paragraph  : 


FBANK  ASSERTS  HIS  EIGHTS.  177 

"I  need  hardly  tell  you,  my  dear  son,  how  much 
I  miss  you.  The  house  seems  very  dull  and  lonely 
without  you.  But  I  am  glad  you  are  enjoying  your 
self  amid  new  scenes,  and  look  forward  with  great 
interest  to  hear  your  accounts  of  what  you  have 
seen.  I  send  a  great  deal  of  love,  and  hope  to  hear 
from  you  often. 

"  Your  affectionate  mother, 

"  MARY  CRAVEN. 

"  P.S. — Mr.  Craven  has  written  a  note  to  you, 
which  will  go  by  the  same  mail  as  this." 

The  other  letter,  written  in  a  masculine 
hand,  Frank  opened  with  some  curiosity.  He 
had  not  expected  to  hear  from  Mr.  Craven, 
and  wondered  what  he  would  have  to  say. 
His  letter  being  short,  will  be  given  entire : 

"  MY  DEAR  FRANK  :  As  your  mother  is  writing 
you,  I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of  sending  a  line 
also.  We  both  miss  you  very  much,  but  are  con 
soled  for  your  absence  by  the  knowledge  that  you 
are  enjoying  and  improving  yourself  in  the  Old 
World.  Had  circumstances  been  favorable,  how 
pleasant  it  would  have  been  if  your  mother  and  my 
self  could  have  accompanied  you.  Let  us  hope 
that  sometime  such  a  plan  may  be  carried  out. 
Meanwhile,  I  feel  truly  happy  to  think  that  you  are 
under  the  care  of  my  friend,  Colonel  Sharpley,  whom 

12 


178  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

I  know  to  be  a  gentleman  every  way  qualified  for 
such  a  responsible  trust.  We  are  hoping  to  receive 
letters  from  you  describing  your  travels.  I  will  not 
write  more  now,  but  subscribe  myself 

"  Your  affectionate  step-father, 

"  SAMUEL  CRAVEN." 

There  was  nothing  to  complain  of  in  this 
letter.  It  was  kind  and  cordial,  and  exhibited 
a.  strong  and  affectionate  interest  in  our  hero. 
Yet  Frank  read  it  without  any  special  feeling 
of  gratitude ;  nor  was  he  drawn  by  it  any 
nearer  to  the  writer.  He  blamed  himself  for 
his  coldness. 

"  Why  can't  I  like  him  ?"  he  said  to  him 
self.  "  He  seems  very  kind,  and  wants  me  to 
enjoy  myself.  I  suppose  he  was  partly  the 
means  of  my  coming  out  on  this  tour.  Yet 
that  doesn't  make  me  like  him." 

Frank  could  not  tell  why  he  felt  so,  but  it 
was  an  instinctive  perception  of  Mr.  Craven's 
insincerity,  and  the  falseness  of  his  character 
and  professions  that  influenced  him.  He 
folded  the  letters,  first  reading  his  mother's  a 
second  time,  and  went  out,'  Colonel  Sharpley 
having  already  departed.  He  bent  his  steps 


FRANK  ASSERTS  HIS  RIGHTS.  179 

to  the  exhibition  building,  and  made  his  way 
to  Mr.  Tarbox. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Tarbox,"  he  said. 
"  How  do  you  feel  to-day  ?" 

"  Pooty  smart.  You  look  as  if  you've  heerd 
good  news." 

u  I  have  had  two  letters  from  home." 

"  So  have  I." 

"Any  news?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jonathan;  "the  brindle  cow's 
got  a  calf." 

Frank  smiled. 

"  That's  my  cow,"  said  Mr.  Tarbox,  seri- 
iously  ;  "she's  a  stunner  for  givin'  milk;  she 
gives  a  pailful  in  the  mornin',  and  two  pailfuls 
at  night.  I'm  goin'  to  make  money  out  of  that 
cow." 

"And  out  of  that  plow,  too,  I  hope." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Tarbox,  shaking 
his  head.  "  These  ignorant  furriners  don't  seem 
to  care  nothin'  about  plows.  They  care  more 
about  silks  and  laces,  and  sich  like." 

"  Was  that  all  the  news  you  got — about  the 
cow,  I  mean?  " 

"  No,"  said  Jonathan,   chuckling  a  little, 


180  FKANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

and  lowering  his  voice;  "  I  got  a  letter  from 
her." 

"  From  her  ?" 

"  Yes,  from  my  gal." 

"  Oh,  I  understand,"  said  Frank,  laughing. 
"  How  glad  you  must  be." 

'•  Yes,  sir-ee.  I  feel  like  a  fly  in  a  molasses 
keg — all  over  sweetness." 

"  Then  she  hasn't  forgotten  you  ?" 

"I  guess  not.  How  do  you  think  she 
ended  her  letter?" 

"  I  can't  tell." 

"Wait  a  minute,  and  I'll  read  you  the 
endin'  off.  Here  it  is : 

1  If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
No  knife  can  cut  our  love  in  two.' 

"  Arn't  that  scrumptious  ?" 

"  I  should  think  it  was.  I  hope  you'll 
introduce  me  some  day,  when  she's  Mrs. 
Tarbox." 

"  Yes,  I  will.  You  must  come  up  to  the 
farm,  and  stay  a  week  in  the  summer." 

"  By  that  time  you'll  have  made  your  for 
tune  out  of  the  plow." 


FRANK  ASSERTS  HIS  RIGHTS.  181 

"  I  hope  so.     Where  are  you  goin'  ?" 

"  I  am  going  to  visit  the  French  depart 
ment  of  the  exhibition." 

"  Wai,  I'll  go  along  with  you.  I  want  to 
see  if  they've  got  any  plow  here  to  compare 
with  mine.  I  don't  believe  they  know  enough 
to  make  anything  useful." 

Mr.  Tarbox  certainly  did  the  French  injus 
tice,  but  he  was  under  the  sway  of  prejudice, 
and  was  quite  disposed  to  exalt  the  useful  at 
the  expense  of  the  beautiful. 


182  FEANK  HUNTEK'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

FRANK    LEAVES    PARIS. 

THERE  was  a  letter  from  Mr."  Craven  to 
Sharpley,  which  came  by  the  same  mail 
as  those  mentioned  in  the  preceding  chapter. 
It  contained  the  following  paragraph  : 

"  I  suppose  you  will  travel  to  Switzerland  with 
Frank.  I  suppose  so,  because  in  the  summer  it  is 
very  attractive  to  the  tourist.  As  accidents  are  very 
apt  to  happen  to  careless  travelers,  let  me  request 
you  to  keep  a  good  lookout  for  him,  and  not  let 
him  approach  too  near  tho  edge  of  precipices,  or 
clefts  in  the  mountains.  He  might  easily  fall  over, 
and  I  shudder,  not  only  to  think  of  his  fate  in  that 
case,  but  of  the  grief  which  would  overwhelm  his 
mother  and  myself.  I  beg  you  will  keep  us  ap 
prised  of  his  health,  and  should  any  accident  hap 
pen,  write  at  once." 

Sharpley  read  over  this  passage  with  at 
tention.  Then  he  folded  the  letter,  and  mut 
tered  to  himself: 

"  What  a  consummate  hypocrite  that  villain 


FRANK  LEAVES  PARIS.  183 

Craven  is !  Any  one,  to  read  this  letter, 
would  suppose  that  he  was  actuated  by  the 
warmest  attachment  for  his  step-son  ;  and  all 
the  while  he  is  planning  his  death,  and  coolly 
suggesting  to  me  an  easy  way  of  bringing  it 
about.  I  am  bad  enough,  or  I  would  not 
lend  myself  to  carry  out  his  plans,  but  I'm 
not  such  a  miserable  hypocrite  as  he  is. 
However,  I've  seen  too  much  of  the  world  to 
be  shocked  at  anybody's  depravity,  having  a 
fair  share  of  wickedness  myself.  As  to  the 
suggestion,  I  must  confess  that  it's  a  good 
one,  and  relieves  me  from  a  good  deal  of 
anxious  thought.  I've  been  considering  how 
best  I  could  get  rid  of  the  young  incum- 
brance.  It  occurred  to  me  that  I  could  lock 
him  up,  and  set  some  charcoal  to  burning  in 
his  room ;  but,  heating  the  room — it's  too  hot 
already.  Then,  again,  I  thought  of  poison. 
But  there's  a  chance  of  a  post-mortem  exami 
nation.  That  won't  do.  But  Craven's  plan  is 
best.  As  far  as  I  can  see  it  will  be  effectual, 
and  free  from  danger  also.  As  soon  as  I  can 
decently  get  away  from  Paris,  I'll  take  the 
boy  to  Switzerland.  I  must  stay  here  a  week 


184  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

at  least,  especially  as  the  exhibition  is  open, 
or  it  might  draw  suspicion  upon  me.  When 
I'm  rid  of  the  boy  I  shall  breathe  freer. 
Then  for  America,  and  a  final  reckoning  with 
Craven.  With  ten  thousand  dollars  —  and 
more,  if  I  can  extort  it  from  him — I  will  set 
up  for  respectability,  and  develop  into  a  sub 
stantial  citizen.  Good-by,  then,  to  the  gam 
bling  table.  It  has  been  my  bane,  but,  with 
a  fair  competence,  I  will  try  to  resist  its  fas 
cinations." 

Sharpley  and  our  hero  met  at  the  table 
dliate  dinner  and  at  breakfast.  For  the  re 
mainder  of  the  day  Frank  was  left  to  his  own 
devices;  but  for  this  he  cared  little.  Either 
alone,  or  in  company  with  Mr.  Tarbox,  he 
went  about  the  city,  often  as  an  outside  pas 
senger  on  the  street  stages  which  ply  from  one 
end  of  Paris  to  the  other,  and  in  this  way  he 
came  to  have  a  very  good  idea  of  the  plan  of 
the  brilliant  capital. 

On  the  sixth  day,  while  they  were  at  din 
ner,  Sharpley  said : 

"  Well,  Frank,  have  you  seen  considerable 
of  Paris  ?" 


FRANK  LEAVES  PARIS.  185 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir ;  I  am  getting  to  know  my 
way  around  pretty  well." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  have  not  been  able  to  go 
about  with  you  more." 

"That  is  of  no  consequence,  sir.  I  have 
got  on  very  well  alone." 

"  Have  you  written  home  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed  at 
what  I  am  going  to  say." 

"What  is  it,  sir?" 

"  I  have  arranged  for  our  leaving  Paris  to 
morrow  evening." 

"  Not  to  go  back  to  England  ?"  asked 
Frank,  hastily. 

"  No.     I  propose  to  go  to  Switzerland." 

"  I  should  like  that,"  said  our  hero,  bright 
ening  up.  "I  have  always  wanted  to  see 
Switzerland." 

"  I  didn't  know  but  you  would  be  sorry  to 
leave  Paris." 

"  So  I  should  be  if  I  thought  we  were 
not  coming  back  this  way.  We  shall,  sha'n't 
we?" 

"Yes." 


186  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Arid  we  shall  have  time  to  stay  here  a 
little  while  then  ?" 

"  No  doubt." 

"  Then  I  can  defer  the  rest  of  my  sight 
seeing  till  then.  What  route  shall  we  take  ?" 

"  As  to  that,  there  is  a  variety  of  routes. 
It  doesn't  matter  much  to  me.  I  will  leave 
the  choice  to  you.'7 

"  Will  you  ?"  said  Frank,  eagerly.  "  Then 
I  will  get  out  my  map  after  dinner  and  pick 
it  out." 

"  Very  well.     You  can  tell  me  to-morrow 


morning." 


The  next  morning  Sharpley  put  the  ques 
tion  to  Frank : 

"  Well,  have  you  decided  by  what  route  you 
would  like  to  travel  ?" 

"  Can't  we  go  east  to  the  Ehine,  and  go  up 
that  river  to  Mayence,  and  thence  to  Geneva 
by  rail  ?" 

"  Certainly,  if  you  like.  It  will  be  quite  a 
pleasant  route." 

"  I  always  thought  I  should  like  to  go  up 
the  Rhine.  I  have  been  up  the  Hudson,  which 
I  have  often  heard  compared  to  the  Rhine." 


FRANK  LEAVES  PARIS.  187 

"  There  is  no  comparison  between  them," 
said  Sharpley,  who,  not  being  an  American, 
was  not  influenced  by  a  patriotic  prejudice  in 
favor  of  the  Hudson.  "The  Rhine  has 
ruined  castles  and  vine-clad  hills,  and  is  far 
more  interesting." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Frank.  "  At  any  rate, 
I  want  to  see  it." 

"  We  will  start  to-morrow  night,  then. 
Morning  will  bring  us  across  the  frontier. 
You  will  be  ready,  of  course?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  next  morning  Frank  went  to  the  ex 
position  to  acquaint  Mr.  Tarbox  with  his  ap 
proaching  departure. 

"  Are  you  goin'  ?  I'm  real  sorry,  Frank," 
said  the  Yankee.  "  I  shall  kinder  hanker 
arter  you,  boy.  You  seem  like  home.  As  to 
them  chatterin',  frog-eatin'  furriners,  I  can't 
understand  a  word  they  say,  and  ef  I  could  I 
wouldn't  want  to." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  prejudiced,  Mr.  Tar- 
box.  I  have  met  some  very  agreeable  French 
people," 

"  I  haven't,"  said  Mr.  Tarbox.   "  They  don't 


188  FEANK  HUNTEE'S  PEEIL. 

suit  me.  There  ain't  nothin'  solid  or  sub 
stantial  about  'em." 

"  You  may  get  acquainted  with  some  Eng 
lish  people.  You  can  understand  them." 

"  I  don't  like  'em,"  said  Jonathan.  "  They 
think  they  can  whip  all  creation.  We  gave 
'em  a  lesson,  I  guess,  at  Bunker  Hill." 

"  Let  by-gones  be  by-gones,  Mr.  Tarbox ; 
or,  as  Longfellow  says : 

"  '  Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead.'  " 

"  Did  Longfellow  write  that  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  he  ain't  so  smart  as  I  thought  he 
was.  How  can  anybody  that's  dead  bury 
himself,  I'd  like  to  know?  It's  ridiculous." 

"  I  suppose  it's  figurative." 

"  It  ain't  sense.  But  that  aint  to  the  point. 
Whereabouts  in  Switzerland  are  you  goin', 
Frank?" 

"  I  don't  know,  except  that  we  go  to 
Geneva." 

"  Can  you  write  me  a  letter  from  there  ?" 

11  Certainly.  I  will  do  so  with  pleasure, 
and  shall  be  glad  to  hear  from  you." 


FRANK  LEAVES  PARIS.  189 

"  All  right.  I  ain't  much  on  scribblin'.  I 
can  hold  a  plow  better'n  a  pen.  But  I  guess 
I  can  write  a  few  pot-hooks,  jest  to  let  yer 
know  I'm  alive  an'  kickin'." 

"  It's  a  bargain,  then." 

"  Jest  give  me  your  name  on  a  piece  of 
paper,  so  I  shall  know  where  to  write." 

"All  right.  I  happen  to  know  where  we 
are  going  to  stop  there.  Mr.  Sharpley  men 
tioned  that  we  should  stop  at  the  Hotel  des 
Bergues.  I  haven't  got  a  card  with  me,  but 
I'll  put  the  address  on  an  old  envelope." 

Frank  took  from  his  pocket  what  he  sup 
posed  to  be  Mr.  Craven's  letter  to  him,  and  on 
the  reverse  side  wrote  : 

FRANK  HUNTER, 

Hotel  des  Bergues, 
Geneva, 

Switzerland. 

Mr.  Tarbox  took  it  and  surveyed  it  criti 
cally  ;  then  read  it  as  follows : 

"  '  Frank  Hunter,  Hotel  dese  Bugs.'  Wai, 
that's  a  queer  name  for  a  tavern,"  he  said. 
"I  s'pose  that's  French  for  bugs?" 


190  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  It  means  that  the  big  bugs  stop  there," 
said  Frank,  jocosely. 

"Some  of  the  big  bugs  are  humbugs,"  said 
Jonathan,  laughing  grimly  at  his  own  wit. 

When,  after  leaving  Mr.  Tarbox,  Frank 
happened  to  examine  his  pockets,  he  drew 
out  the  two  letters  he  had  received.  This 
puzzled  him.  What  letter  was  that  which  he 
had  given  his  Yankee  friend,  then  ?  He 
could  not  tell.  We  are  wiser.  Sharpley  had 
incautiously  left  on  the  table  Craven's  letter 
to  him,  and  Frank  had  put  it  into  his  pocket, 
supposing  it  to  be  his.  This  it  was  which 
had  passed  into  the  possession  of  Mr.  Tarbox. 

Three  days  later  Mr.  Tarbox  discovered 
the  letter,  and  curiosity  made  him  unscrupu 
lous.  He  read  it  through,  including  the 
paragraph  already  quoted. 

"  By  hokey  !''  he  muttered.  "  That's  queer. 
1  Should  any  accident  happen,  write  at  once.' 
He  seems  to  expect  an  accident  will  happen. 
I'll  bet  that  man  is  a  snake  in  the  grass.  He's 
Frank's  guardian,  and  he's  got  up  some  plot 
ag'in  him.  I  always  disliked  that  Sharpley. 
He's  a  skunk.  I'll  start  for.  Switzerland  to- 


FRANK  LEAVES  PARIS.  191 

morrow,  and  let  the  old  plow  go  to  thunder. 
I'm  bound  to  look  out  for  Frank." 

Mr.  Tarbox  was  energetic.  He  went  to  his 
lodgings,  packed  his  carpet-bag,  and  early 
next  morning  started  in  pursuit  of  Frank 
and  Sharpley. 


192  FEANK  HUNTEK'S  TEEIL. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE    HOTEL    DU    GLACIER. 

HIGH  up  among  the  Bernese  Alps  stands 
the  Hotel  du  Glacier.  It  is  a  small 
hotel,  of  limited  accommodations,  but  during 
the  season  it  is  generally  full  of  visitors.  The 
advantage  is,  that  a  comparatively  short  walk 
carries  one  to  a  point  where  he  has  a  fine 
view  of  that  mountain  scenery  which  is  the 
glory  of  Switzerland,  and  draws  thither 
thousands  of  pilgrims  annually. 

In  rustic  chairs  outside  sat  at  eight  o'clock 
in  the  morning  our  young  hero,  Frank  Hun 
ter,  and  his  temporary  guardian,  Colonel 
Sharpley.  In  front  a  beautiful  prospect 
spread  out  before  the  two  travelers.  Snowy 
peaks,  their  rough  surface  softened  by  dis 
tance,  abounding  in  beetling  cliffs  and  fearful 
gorges,  but  overlooking  smiling  valleys,  were 
plainly  visible. 


THE  HOTEL  DU  GLACIER.  193 

"Isn't  it  magnificent?"  exclaimed  Frank, 
Avith  the  enthusiasm  of  youth. 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say,"  said  Sharpley,  yawning, 
"  but  I'm  not  romantic;  I've  outlived  all 
that." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  shall  ever  outlive  my 
admiration  for  such  scenery  as  this,"  thought 
Frank. 

"  Don't  you  enjoy  it?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  so  so  ;  but  the  fact  is,  I  came  here 
chiefly  because  I  thought  you  would  like  it. 
I've  been  the  regular  Swiss  tour  more  than 
once." 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  take  so  much  trouble 
on  my  account,"  said  Frank. 

"  Oh,  I  might  as  well  be  here  as  anywhere," 
said  Sharpley.  "  Just  at  present  there  is 
nothing  in  particular  to  take  up  my  attention. 
Did  you  order  breakfast  ?" 

"  Yes,  Colonel  Sharpley." 

"  Go  and  ask  if  it  isn't  ready,  will  you  ?" 

Frank  entered  the  inn,  and  soon  returned 
with  the  information  that  breakfast  was  ready. 
They  entered  a  small  dining-room,  where  they 
found  the  simple  meal  awaiting  them. 

13 


194  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

The  regular  Swiss  breakfast  consists  of  cof 
fee,  bread  and  butter,  and  honey,  and  costs, 
let  me  add,  for  the  gratification  of  my  reader's 
curiosity,  thirty  cents  in  gold.  Dinner  com 
prises  soup,  three  courses  of  meat,  and  a  pud 
ding  or  fruit,  and  costs  from  sixty  cents  to  a 
dollar,  according  to  the  pretensions  of  the 
hotel.  In  fact,  so  far  as  hotel  expenses  go, 
two  dollars  a  day  in  gold  will  be  quite  suffi 
cient  in  the  majority  of  cases.  If  meat  is  re 
quired  for  breakfast,  that  is  additional. 

"  How  good  the  coffee  is,"  said  Frank.  "  I 
never  tasted  it  as  good  in  America." 

"  They  know  how  to  make  it  here,  but  why 
didn't  you  order  breakfast  ?" 

"  I  thought  they  would  supply  meat  with 
out  an  order." 

"I  always  want  meat;  I  have  got  beyond 
my  bread-and-butter  days,"  said  Sharpley, 
with  a  dash  of  sarcasm. 

"  I  have  not,"  said  Frank,  "  especially  when 
both  are  so  good.  What  are  your  plans  for 
the  day,  Colonel  Sharpley  ?" 

"  I  think  we'll  take  a  climb  after  break 
fast,"  said  Sharpley.  "  What  do  you  say  ?" 


THE  HOTEL  DU  GLACIER.  195 

"  I  should  like  nothing  better/'  said  Frank, 
eagerly.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  I  am  afraid  you 
are  going  entirely  on  my  account.'' 

"  How  well  the  boy  has  guessed  it,"  thought 
Sharpley.  "  It  is  on  his  account  I  am  going, 
but  he  must  not  know  that." 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said  ;  "I  feel  like  taking  a 
ramble  among  the  hills.  It  would  be  stupid 
staying  at  the  inn." 

"  Then,"  said  Frank,  with  satisfaction,  "  I 
shall  be  glad  to  go.  Shall  we  take  a  guide  ?" 

"  Not  this  morning,"  said  Sharpley.  "  Let 
us  have  the  pleasure  of  exploring  independ 
ently.  To-morrow  we  will  arrange  a  long 
excursion  with  guides." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  quite  safe  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  if  we  don't  wander  too  far.  I 
shall  be  ready  in  about  half  an  hour." 

"  I  will  be  ready,"  said  Frank. 

"  And  I'll  smoke  a  cigar." 

Just  then  a  gentleman  came  up,  whose  ac 
quaintance  they  had  made  the  previous  day. 
It  was  a  Mr.  Abercrombie,  an  American  gen 
tleman,  from  Chicago,  who  was  accompanied 
by  his  son  Henry,  a  boy  about  Frank's  age. 


196  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  What  are  your  plans  for  to-day,  Mr. 
Sharpley  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  hope  he  isn't  going  to  thrust  himself 
upon  us,"  thought  Sharpley,  savagely,  for  he 
was  impatient  of  anything  that  was  likely  to 
interfere  with  his  wicked  design. 

"  I  have  none  in  particular,"  he  answered. 

"You  are  not  going  to  remain  at  the  inn, 
are  you?  That  would  be  dull." 

"  Confound  the  man's  curiosity  !"  muttered 
Sharpley,  to  himself. 

"  I  may  wander  about  a  little,  but  I  shall 
make  no  excursion  worth  speaking  of  till  to 


morrow." 


"  Why  can't  we  join  company  ?"  said  Mr. 
Abercrombie,  in  a  friendly  manner.  "  Our 
young  people  are  well  acquainted,  and  we  can 
keep  each  other  company.  Enlarge  your  plan 
a  little,  and  take  a  guide." 

"  I  wish  the  man  was  back  in  America," 
thought  Sharpley.  "  Why  won't  he  see  that 
he's  a  bore  ?" 

"  Really,"  he  said,  stiffly,  "  you  must  ex 
cuse  me  ;  I  don't  feel  equal  to  any  sort  of  an 
excursion  to-day." 


THE  HOTEL  DU  GLACIER.  197 

"  Then,"  said  the  other,  still  in  a  friendly 
way,  "  let  your  boy  come  with  us.  I  will  look 
after  him,  and  my  son  will  like  his  company." 

Frank  heard  this  application,  and  as  he  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  Henry  and  his  father,  he 
hoped  that  Sharpley  would  reply  favorably. 
He  felt  that  he  should  enjoy  their  company 
better  than  his  guardian's. 

Sharpley  was  greatly  irritated,  but  obliged 
to  keep  within  the  bounds  of  politeness  to 
avoid  suspicion,  when  something  had  hap 
pened,  as  he  meant  something  should  happen 
before  the  sun  set. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  think  me  impolite,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  mean,  by  and  by,  to  walk  a  lit 
tle,  and  would  like  Frank's  company.  To 
morrow  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  join  you." 

Nothing  more  could  be  said,  of  course,  but 
Henry  Abercrombie  whispered  to  Frank : 

"  I'm  sorry  we're  not  going  to  be  together 
to-day." 

"  So  am  I,"  answered  Frank ;  "  but  we'll 
have  a  bully  time  to-morrow.  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  stay  with  Colonel  Sharpley." 

"  He  isn't  any  relation  of  yours,  is  he  ?" 


198  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"Oh,  no;  I  am  only  traveling  in  his  com 
pany." 

"So  I  thought.    You  don't  look  much  alike." 

"  No  ;  I  suppose  not." 

Half  an  hour  passed,  but  the  Abercrombies 
were  still  there. 

"  Shall  we  go  ?"  asked  Frank. 

"  Not,  yet,"  said  Sharpley,  shortly. 

He  did  not  mean  to  start  till  the  other  trav 
elers  were  gone,  lest  he  should  be  followed. 
For  he  had  screwed  his  courage  to  the  stick 
ing  point,  and  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  that  day  do  the  deed  which  he  had 
covenanted  with  Mr.  Craven  to  do.  The 
sooner  the  better,  he  thought,  for  it  would 
bring  him  nearer  the  large  sum  of  money 
which  he  expected  to  realize  as  the  price  of 
our  hero's  murder. 

Twenty  minutes  afterward  the  Abercrom 
bies,  equipped  for  a  mountain  walk,  swinging 
their  alpenstocks,  started  off,  accompanied  by 
a  guide. 

"  Won't  you  reconsider  your  determination 
and  go  ?"  asked  the  father. 

Sharpley  shook  his  head. 


THE  HOTEL  DU  GLACIER.  199 

"  I  don't  feel  equal  to  the  exertion,"  he  an 
swered. 

"  I  hope  you'll  have  a  pleasant  excursion, 
Henry,"  said  Frank,  looking  wistfully  after 
his  young  friend. 

"  It  would  be  pleasanter  if  you  were  going 
along,"  said  Henry. 

"Thank  you." 

Frank  said  no  more,  but  waited  till  Sharp- 
ley  had  smoked  another  cigar.  By  this  time 
twenty  minutes  had  elapsed. 

"  I  think  we'll  go  now,  Frank,"  said  Sharp- 
ley. 

At  the  welcome  intimation  Frank  jumped 
up  briskly. 

"  Shall  I  order  some  lunch  to  be  packed  for 
us  ?"  he  asked. 

lt  No  ;  we  sha'n't  need  it,"  said  Sharpley. 

Frank  laughed. 

"  I  think  I'll  get  some  for  myself,"  said 
Frank,  laughing,  as  he  added :  "  I've  got  a 
healthy  appetite,  Colonel  Sharpley,  and  I  am 
sure  the  exertion  of  climbing  these  hills  will 
make  me  fearfully  hungry." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  delayed,"  said  Sharp- 


200  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

ley,  frowning.  "  We  sha'n't  be  gone  long 
enough  to  need  lunch. " 

"  It  won't  take  me  a  minute,"  said  Frank, 
running  into  the  inn. 

"  It  is  strange  he  is  so  much  in  a  hurry  all 
at  once,"  thought  our  young  hero,  "  when  he 
has  been  lounging  about  for  an  hour  without 
appearing  in  the  least  haste." 

However,  he  did  not  spend  much  thought 
on  Sharpley's  wayward  humor,  which  he 
was  beginning  to  see  was  regulated  by  no 
rules. 

Less  than  five  minutes  afterward  he  ap 
peared,  provided  with  a  tourist's  lunch-box. 

"  I've  got  enough  for  you,  Colonel  Sharp- 
ley,"  he  said,  "  in  case  we  stay  out  longer  than 
we  anticipate." 

The  landlord  closely  followed  him,  and  ad 
dressed  himself  to  Sharpley : 

"Will  not  monsieur  have  a  guide?"  he 
asked. 

"  No,"  said  Sharpley. 

"  My  son,  Baptiste,  is  an  experienced  guide, 
and  can  show  monsieur  and  his  young  friend 
the  finest  prospects." 


THE  HOTEL  DU  GLACIER.  201 

"  I  sliall  need  no  guide,"  said  Sharpley,  im 
patiently.  "  Frank,  come  along." 

"  It  will  only  be  six  francs,"  persisted  the 
landlord,  "  and  Baptiste — " 

"  I  don't  want  Baptiste,"  said  Sharpley, 
gruffly.  "  Plague  take  the  man  F'  he  mut 
tered  to  himself.  "  He  is  making  himself  a 
regular  nuisance." 

"  I  wish  he  would  take  a  guide,"  thought 
Frank,  no  suspicion  of  the  importance  to 
himself  of  having  one  entering  his  mind. 


202  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

OVEK   THE   BRINK. 

started  on  their  walk  provided  with 
JL  alpenstocks,  for  just  above  them  was  the 
snow-line,  and  they  could  not  go  far  without 
encountering  ice  also.  The  Hotel  du  Glacier 
stood  thousands  of  feet  above  the  sea-level, 
and  was  a  favorite  resort  with  those  who  en 
joyed  the  sublimity  of  mountain  scenery. 

Though  Sharpley  was  by  no  means  the 
companion  he  would  have  best  liked,  Frank 
was  in  high  spirits,  as  he  realized  that  he  was 
really  four  thousand  miles  from  home,  sur 
rounded  by  the  famous  mountains  of  which 
he  had  so  often  read. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  up  this  mountain 
before,  Colonel  Sharpley  ?"  asked  Frank. 

"  Not  up  this  mountain.  I  have  ascended 
others,  however.  I  once  crossed  over  Mount 
Cenis  to  Italy/' 


OVER  THE  BRINK.  203 

"How?     Did  you  walk?" 

"  No.     I  went  in  a  diligence. " 

"  It  must  have  been  fine.  Shall  we  go  into 
Italy  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so." 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much.  I  have  read 
so  much  about  Italy." 

"  How  I  wish  Ben  Cameron  were  here !" 
said  Frank,  after  a  pause. 

He  did  not  so  much  mean  to  say  this  to 
Sharpley,  but  the  thought  entered  his  mind, 
and  he  unconsciously  uttered  it  aloud. 

"  Who  is  Ben  Cameron  ?" 

"  He  is  a  friend  of  mine  at  home.  We  were 
a  great  deal  together." 

"  Was  he  the  boy  that  was  with  you  when 
I  first  met  you  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Humph  !  I  have  no  desire  for  his  com 
pany,"  thought  Sharpley. 

"  Have  you  a  glass  with  you,  Colonel 
Sharpley  ?"  asked  Frank. 

"  Yes.     Would  you  like  to  use  it  ?" 

"  If  you  please." 

It  was  a  small  spy-glass,  not  powerful,  but 


204  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

serviceable.  Frank  adjusted  it  to  liis  eye, 
and  looked  earnestly  in  a  certain  direction. 

"  What  do  you  see  ?"  asked  liis  com 
panion. 

"  Wait  a  minute.  I  am  not  certain.  Yes, 
it  is  they." 

"  Who?"  demanded  Sharpley,  impatiently. 
!  "  The  Abercrombies.  They  are  higher  up 
than  we,  over  there,  but  not  very  much  out 
of  our  way.  Shall  we  join  them  ?"  asked 
Frank,  hopefully. 

"Where  are  they?  Let  me  see,"  said 
Sharpley,  seizing  the  glass. 

He  thought  Frank  might  be  mistaken,  but 
a  glance  through  the  glass  satisfied  him  that 
he  was  right.  There  was  Mr.  Abercrornbie, 
toiling  up  a  steep  ascent,  with  his  son  follow 
ing,  the  latter  assisted  by  the  guide. 

"  Do  you  see  them  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Don't  you  think  we  can  overtake  them  ?" 

"  Perhaps  we  might,  but  I  for  one  don't 
intend  to  try." 

Frank  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  Why  not  ?" 


OVER  THE  BRINK.  205 

"  I  thought  you  heard  me  decline  to  join 
them  at  the  hotel.  I  have  no  fancy  for  com 
pany  to-day." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Frank,  politely.'  "I 
might  have  remembered  it." 

"  You  can  join  them  to-morrow  if  you  feel 
like  it,"  said  Sharpley,  emphasizing  the  last 
clause. 

Frank  noticed  the  emphasis,  and  wondered 
at  it  a  little.  It  seemed  to  imply  that  he 
might  not  choose  to  do  it,  and  that  did  not 
seem  very  likely.  However,  possibly  the 
emphasis  was  unconscious,  and  his  mind  did 
not  dwell  upon  it. 

They  were  now  walking  along  a  ledge 
scarcely  more  than  six  feet  wide,  terminating 
in  a  sheer  precipice. 

"  I  wonder  if  accidents  often  happen  here  ?" 
suggested  Frank. 

"Such  as  what  ?"  sharply  interrogated  his 
companion. 

"I  mean  such  as  slipping  over  these  cliffs." 

"  Not  often,  I  presume,"  said  Sharpley. 
"  No  one  who  exercises  common  prudence 
need  fear  slipping." 


206  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

His  heart  began  to  beat  quicker,  for  lie  saw 
that  the  moment  was  approaching  in  which 
his  fearful  work  was  to  be  done. 

"  The  dangers  of  the  Alps  are  very  greatly 
exaggerated,"  he  said,  indifferently. 

"  It  looks  dangerous,"  said  Frank. 

"  Yes,  I  presume  so.  Suppose  we  approach 
the  edge  cautiously  and  look  down." 

There  is  a  fatal  fascination  about  danger. 
Just  as  the  moth  hovers  persistently  about  the 
flame,  to  which  in  the  end  he  falls  a  victim, 
so  we  are  disposed  to  draw  near  dangers  at 
which  we  shudder.  We  like  to  see  it  for  our 
selves,  and,  shuddering,  to  say :  "  Suppose  I 
should  fall  in." 

Our  young  hero  was  of  a  daring  disposi 
tion.  He  had  never  been  timid  or  nervous, 
inheriting  his  father's  physical  traits,  not 
his  mother's.  So  Sharpley's  proposal  struck 
him  favorably,  being  an  appeal  to  his  cour 
age. 

"  I  should  like  to  look  over,"  he  said. 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  near  the  fatal  brink, 
not  observing  that  his  companion  was  not  at 
his  side,  but  just  behind  him. 


OVER  THE  BEINK.  207 

"  Now  for  it !"  thought  Sharpley,  his 
breath  coming  thick  and  fast. 

One  push  from  behind,  and  Frank  was 
over  the  ledge,  falling — falling — falling. 

There  was  one  scream  of  terror,  and  Sharp- 
ley  found  himself  alone  upon  the  cliff. 


208  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

GIVING   THE   ALARM. 

FTIHERE  are  not  many  men  who  can  com- 
JL  mit  a  crime  of  violence  without  an 
inward  shudder  and  a  thrill  of  horror.  Sharp- 
ley  was  not  a  professional  murderer.  He  had 
never  before  taken  life.  His  offences  against 
law  had  been  many,  but  none  had  stained 
his  soul  with  blood  till  now. 

He  felt  faint  as  he  saw  the  disappearance 
of  his  young  ward,  sped  by  his  own  hand  to 
a  death  so  fearful. 

"  It  is  done  and  can't  be  undone,"  he  mut 
tered.  "He  will  never  know  what  hurt  him. 
I  am  glad  it's  over.  It  was  a  dirty  job,  but  I 
had  to  do  it.  Craven  forced  me  to  this.  He 
must  pay  well  for  it." 

"Shall  I  look  over  the  cliff?"  he  asked 
himself. 


f 


*r>> 


OVER    THE    LEDGE. 


GIVING  THE  ALARM.  209 

He  advanced  a  step,  but  drew  back  with  a 
shudder. 

"  No,  I  can't  do  it,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  It 
will  make  me  dizzy.  I  shall  run  the  risk  of 
falling  over  myself." 

He  retraced  his  steps  for  a  few  rods,  and 
then  sat  down  to  think.  It  was  necessary 
that  he  should  concoct  some  plausible  account 
of  the  accident,  in  order  to  avoid  suspicion, 
though  that  was  not  likely  to  fall  upon  him. 
Who  could  dream  of  any  motive  that  would 
impel  him  to  such  a  deed  ?  Yet  there  was 
such  a  motive,  as  he  well  knew,  but  the  only 
one  who  shared  the  knowledge  was  in  Amer 
ica,  and  he  was  criminally  connected  with  the 
crime. 

Sharpley  soon  determined  upon  his  course 
and  his  explanation.  The  latter  would 
necessitate  a  search  for  the  boy,  and  this 
made  him  pause. 

"  But,  pshaw  !"  he  said,  "  the  boy  is  dead. 
He  must  have  been  killed  at  once ;  and  the 
dead  tell  no  tales.  I  must  get  back  to  the 
hotel  and  give  the  alarm." 

An   hour   later   Sharpley  approached  the 

14 


210  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

inn.  He  had  walked  quietly  till  then,  but 
now  he  had  a  part  to  play. 

He  rushed  into  the  inn  in  breathless  haste, 
nearly  knocking  over  the  portly  landlord, 
whom  he  encountered  in  the  passage. 

"What  is  the  matter,  monsieur?"  asked 
the  landlord,  with  eyes  distended. 

"  The  boy  P  gasped  Sharplcy. 

"What  of  the  boy,  monsieur?" 

"He  has  fallen  over  a  precipice,"  he  ex 
claimed. 

"  Oh9  del  /"  exclaimed  the  iandlord.  "  How 
did  it  happen  ?" 

"We  were  walking  on  a  narrow  ledge," 
explained  Sharpley.  "  On  one  side  there  was 
a  steep  descent.  I  don't  know  how  many  hun 
dreds  of  feet  deep.  The  boy  approached  the 
edge.  I  warned  him  to  be  careful,  but  he 
was  very  rash.  He  did  not  obey  me.  He 
leaned  too  far,  lost  his  balance,  and  fell  over. 
I  sprang  forward  to  save  him,  but  it  was  too 
late." 

"  It  is  horrible !"  said  the  landlord.  "  Was 
he  your  son  ?" 

"  No,  but  he  was  the  son  of  a  dear  friend. 


GIVING  THE  ALARM.  211 

Oh,  how  shall  I  break  the  sad  tidings  to  his 
father  arid  mother  ?  Is  there  no  hope  of  his 
life  being  saved  ?" 

"I  fear  not,"  said  the  landlord,  gravely. 
"  You  should  have  taken  Baptiste  with  you, 
as  I  advised." 

"  Oh,  my  friend,  I  wish  I  had  !"  said  the 
hypocrite,  fervently.  "  Where  is  Baptiste  ? 
Let  us  go  and  see  if  we  can  find  the  poor 
boy  ?" 

"  Here  I  am  at  your  service,  monsieur," 
said  Baptiste.  "  I  will  take  a  comrade  with 
me.  We  will  save  him  if  we  can,  but  I  fear 
there  is  no  hope." 

Ten  minutes  later  Sharpley,  accompanied 
by  two  guides,  and  some  of  the  guests  of  the 
hotel,  who  had  been  struck  with  horror  on 
hearing  the  news,  were  wending  their  way  up 
the  mountain  in  quest  of  our  hero. 


212  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

SHARPLEY   DISSEMBLES. 

FTIHERE  was  some  delay  about  starting,  but 
JL  at  length  the  party  got  under  way.  Very 
little  conversation  took  place,  and  that  little 
related  only  to  the  accident.  The  spell  of 
the  awful  tragedy  was  upon  them,  and  their 
faces  were  grave  and  their  spirits  depressed. 

And  what  shall  we  say  of  the  guilty  man, 
who  alone  could  unlock  the  mystery  ? — who 
alone  could  account  for  the  boy's  tragic  end  ? 
His  mind  was  in  a  tumult  of  contradictory 
emotions.  He  was  glad  that  it  was  all  over — 
that  the  fearful  task  which  in  America  he  had 
agreed  to  execute,  which  had  haunted  him  for 
these  many  days  and  nights,  was  no  longer 
before  him  to  do,  that  it  was  already  done. 
He  saw  before  him,  mercenary  wretch  that 
he  was,  the  promised  reward,  in  a  sum  of 
money  which  would  be  to  him  a  competence, 
and  which,  carefully  husbanded,  would  relieve 


SIIARPLEY  DISSEMBLES.  213 

all  his  money  anxieties  for  the  future.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  there  came  the  shuddering 
thought  that  he  had  wrought  the  death  of  an 
unoffending  boy,  who  had  looked  up  to  him 
as  a  guide  and  protector,  but  whom  he  had 
only  lured  to  his  ruin. 

"  Are  accidents  frequent  among  the  moun 
tains?"  asked  one  of  the  guests,  addressing 
Baptiste,  the  guide. 

"  No,  monsieur ;  not  in  this  part.  When 
travelers  are  hurt  or  killed,  it  is  because  they 
are  careless  or  go  without  guides." 

"  As  I  did,"  said  Sharpley,  who  felt  it 
would  be  polite  to  take  upon  himself  this 
blame,  and  so  skilfully  evade  suspicion  of  a 
graver  fault.  "  You  are  right,  and  I  am  much 
to  blame ;  but  I  did  not  expect  to  go  so  far, 
nor  did  I  think  Frank  would  be  so  impru 
dent.  But  it  is  not  for  me  to  blame  the  poor 
boy,  who  has  been  so  fearfully  punished  for 
his  boldness.  You  would  not  have  let  him 
go  so  near  the  edge  of  the  cliff?" 

"No,  monsieur;  or,  if  he  went,  I  would 
have  held  him  while  he  looked  down." 

"  It  is  what  I  should  have  done.     Oh,  how 


214  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

horrible  it  was  to  see  him  fall  over  the 
cliff?" 

And  Sharpley  shuddered,  a  genuine  shud 
der;  for,  guilty  as  he  was,  the  picture  was 
one  to  appall  him. 

"  Oh,  how  shall  I  tell  his  poor  mother  ?" 
he  continued,  acting  wonderfully  well. 

The  rest  were  silent,  respecting  what  they 
thought  to  be  his  grief. 

They  had,  perhaps,  half  achieved  the  as 
cent,  when  they  fell  in  with  the  Abercrom- 
bies,  who  were  just  returning  from  their 
excursion.  They  regarded  the  ascending 
party  with  surprise. 

"What!"  said  Mr.  Abercrombie  to  Sharp- 
ley,  "are  you  just  going  up  the  mountain? 
You  are  very  late." 

"  Where  is  Frank  ?"  asked  Henry  Aber 
crombie,  looking  in  vain  among  the  party  for 
our  hero,  to  whom,  as  already  said,  he  had 
taken  a  fancy. 

There  was  silence  at  first,  each  of  those  in 
the  secret  regarding  the  rest.  But  it  was  to 
Sharpley  that  Mr.  Abercrombie  looked  for  a 
reply.  The  delay  surprised  him. 


SHAEPLEY  DISSEMBLES.  215 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked,  at  length. 
"  Has  anything  happened  ?" 

"  Somebody  tell  him,"  said  Sharpley,  in 
pretended  emotion. 

Baptiste  was  the  one  to  respond. 

" Monsieur,"  he  said,  gravely,  "a  terrible 
thing  has  happened.  The  poor  boy  has  fallen 
into  a  ravine." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  father  and  son,  in 
horror. 

"  Frank  fallen  ?  Why  I  saw  him  only  this 
morning.  I  asked  him  to  go  with  us.  Is  this 
true  ?"  said  Henry. 

"  It  is  only  too  true,  my  boy,"  said  Sharp- 
ley,  covering  his  face. 

And  he  repeated  his  version  of  the  accident 
with  well-counterfeited  emotion. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  ?"  asked  Henry,  with 
pale  face. 

Baptiste  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  can 
tell  better  when  I  see  the  place." 

"  How  can  there  be  any  hope  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Abercrombie. 

"  He  might  have  fallen  on  the  deep  snow, 


216  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

or  on  some  intermediate  ledge,  and  so  saved 
Ins  life." 

"  Good  Heaven !"  thought  Sharpley,  in 
dismay.  "  Suppose  it  should  be  so  ?  Suppose 
he  is  alive,  and  should  expose  me  ?  I  should 
be  ruined.  But  no !  It  cannot  be.  There  is 
not  one  chance  in  a  hundred.  Yet  that  one 
chance  disturbs  me.  I  must  find  out  as  soon 
as  possible,  in  order  that  my  mind  may  be  at 


ease." 


"  Come  on  !"  he  said,  aloud.  "  While  we 
are  lingering  here  the  boy  may  die.  Let  us 
make  haste." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Aber- 
crombie. 

"  And  I,"  said  Henry. 


A  USELESS  SEARCH.  217 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

A    USELESS    SEARCH. 

'  '  TS  tins  the  place  ?"asked  Baptiste,  as,  half 

JL  an  hour  later,  they  stood  on  the  fatal 
cliff. 

"  This  is  the  place,"  said  Sharpley. 

"  Let  me  look  over,"  said  Henry,  advancing 
to  the  edge. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?"  exclaimed  his  father, 
drawing  him  back  hastily. 

"  I  will  look,  gentlemen,"  said  the  guide. 
"It  will  be  safest  for  me." 

He  threw  himself  flat  upon  his  stomach, 
and  thus  in  safety  peeped  into  the  chasm. 

"  Do  you  see  anything  ?"  asked  Sharpley, 
agitated. 

"  Wait  till  I  look  earnestly,"  and  after  a 
breathless  pause,  he  answered  slowly  : 

u  No,  I  see  nothing ;  but  the  cliff  is  not  so 
steep  or  so  high  as  I  thought.  There  are 


218  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

some  bushes  growing  in  parts.  He  might  be 
stopped  by  these.7' 

"You  can't  see  any  traces  of  him,  can 
you  ?" 

Another  pause. 

"  No.  The  snow  seems  disturbed  in  one 
place,  but  if  he  had  fallen  there,  he  would  be 
there  still." 

"Might  he  not  have  fallen  there  and 
rolled  to  the  bottom  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so.     I  cannot  tell." 

"  Let  me  look,"  said  Sharpley. 

The  suggestion  of  the  possibility  that  Frank 
might  have  escaped  was  fraught  to  him  with 
danger.  All  his  hopes  of  safety  and  success 
depended  upon  the  boy's  death.  He  wanted 
to  see  for  himself. 

The  guide  rose,  and  Sharpley,  imitating  his 
posture,  threw  himself  on  the  ground  and 
looked  over,  borrowing  the  glass.  But  such 
a  sense  of  horror,  brought  on  by  his  own 
criminality,  overcame  him  as  he  lay  there 
that  his  vision  was  blurred,  and  he  came  near 
dropping  the  glass.  He  rose,  trembling. 

"  I  can  see  nothing  of  him,"  he  said.     "  He 


A  USELESS  SEAECH.  219 

is  certainly  dead.  Poor  boy  !  He  could  not 
possibly  have  escaped." 

"  Let  me  look,"  said  Abercrombie. 

But  he  also  could  see  no  trace  of  the  body. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  rising,  "  that  our  best 
course  will  be  to  descend  and  explore  at  the 
bottom  of  the  cliff." 

"  It  will  be  of  no  use,"  said  Sharpley. 

"  We  can  at  least  find  the  body  and  give  it 
decent  burial.  Baptiste,  is  there  no  way  of 
descending?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Baptiste,  "  but  we  shall  need 
to  go  a  long  distance  around." 

"  How  long  will  it  take  ?" 

"  An  hour  ;  perhaps  more." 

"  I  am  ready  to  go,  for  one,"  said  Mr.  Aber 
crombie.  "  Will  you  go,  Mr.  Sharpley  ?" 

"  I  do  not  feel  equal  to  the  exertion.  I  am 
too  agitated." 

Glances  of  pity  were  directed  toward  him. 

"  Baptiste,"  said  Abercrombie,  "  if  you 
will  guide  me,  and  any  one  else  who  chooses 
to  join  the  expedition,  I  will  pay  you  double 
price." 

"  Monsieur,"  said   Baptiste,  who  had  feel- 


220  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

ings,  though  not  indifferent  to  money,  "  I  will 
guide  you  for  nothing,  out  of  regard  for  the 
poor  boy." 

"  You  are  an  honest  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Aber- 
crornbie,  grasping  his  hand  warmly.  "  You 
shall  not  lose  by  it." 

"  May  I  go,  father  ?"  asked  Henry. 

"  No,  my  son.  The  exertion  will  be  too 
great  for  you.  Go  home  with  the  rest  of  the 
party." 

In  silence  the  party  returned  to  the  Hotel 
du  Glacier.  Most  were  appalled  by  the  sad 
fate  of  Frank  Hunter,  but  Sharpley  was 
moved  by  another  feeling.  There  was  not 
much  chance  of  Frank's  being  found  alive, 
or  in  a  condition  to  expose  his  murderous  at 
tempt,  but,  of  course,  there  was  a  slight  pos 
sibility.  While  that  existed  he  felt  ill  at  ease. 
He  would  gladly  have  left  the  place  at  once, 
but  this  he  could  not  do  without  exciting  sus 
picion.  He  must  wait  till  the  return  of  the 
party. 

It  was  not  till  nightfall  that  the  party  were 
seen  returning.  Sharpley  waited  for  their 
report  in  great  suspense. 


A  USELESS  SEARCH.  221 

"  Have  you  found  him  ?"  he  demanded,  pale 
with  excitement. 

Baptiste  shook  his  head. 

He  gave  a  sigh  of  quiet  relief,  which  was 
interpreted  to  be  a  sigh  of  sorrow.  "  I 
thought  you  would  not,"  he  said. 

The  next  day  he  left  the  hotel. 
"  I  must  go  to  America,"  he  said,  "  to  tell 
Frank's  mother  the  terrible  truth.     I  cannot 
trust  it  to  a  letter/' 

"  But  suppose  the  body  is  found,"  said  Bap 
tiste. 

"  Bury  it  decently  and  write  instantly  to 
me,  and  I  will  transmit  the  necessary  sum. 
Or,  hold,  here  are  a  hundred  and  fifty 
francs.  If  he  is  not  found,  keep  them  your 
self." 

An  hour  later  he  was  on  his  way  to  Paris. 


222  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

MR.    TARBOX    ON    THE    TRAIL. 

' '  QO  this  is  the  Hotel  de  Bugs,"  said 
O  Jonathan  Tarbox,  as,  carpet-bag  in 
hand,  he  approached,  with  long  strides,  the 
well-known  Hotel  des  Bergues  in  Geneva. 
"  It  looks  like  a  nice  sort  of  a  hotel.  I 
wonder  if  Frank  and  that  rascally  humbug 
are  stoppin'  here.  .I'd  give  twenty-five 
cents  to  see  that  boy's  face.  Strange  what 
a  fancy  I've  took  to  him.  He's  a  reg'lar 
gentleman  ;  as  quick  and  sharp  as  a  steel- 
trap." 

Mr.  Tarbox  had  walked  from  the  railway 
station.  He  was  naturally  economical,  and, 
having  all  his  life  been  accustomed  to  walk, 
thought  it  a  waste  and  extravagance  to  take  a 
carriage.  He  had  inquired  his  way  by  sim 
ply  pronouncing  the  name  of  the  hotel  as 


MR.  TARBOX  ON  THE  TRAIL.  223 

above.  The  similarity  in  sound  was  sufficient 
to  insure  a  correction. 

He  entered  the  hotel  and  found  the  land 
lord. 

"  I  say,  captain,  I  want  to  put  up  here  to 
night." 

"  Will  monsieur  have  a  room  ?"  asked  the 
host,  politely. 

"  If  you  mean  me,  that's  what  I  want ;  but 
I  ain't  a  monseer  at  all.  I'm  a  Yankee." 

"  Monsieur  Yang-kee  ?"  said  the  landlord, 
a  little  puzzled. 

;<  Look  here,  captain,  I  ain't  a  monseer — 
I  don't  eat  frogs.  Do  I  look  like  it.  No,  I'm 
a  straight-down,  dyed-in-the-wool  Yankee, 
from  Squashboro',  State  o'  Maine." 

"  Will  you  have  a  room  ?"  asked  the  land 
lord,  avoiding  the  word  monsieur,  which  he 
perceived  the  other  disclaimed,  for  some  rea 
son  which  he  could  not  very  well  compre 
hend. 

"  Yes,  I  will,  if  I  can  get  one  cheap.  I 
don't  want  none  of  your  big  apartments,  that 
cost  like  blazes.  I  want  a  little  room,  with  a 
bed  in  it,  and  a  chair." 


224  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  We  have  pet-its  apartements — very  small 
price." 

"  Give  me  one,  then.  Oh,  hold  on  ;  is  there 
a  boy  named  Frank  Hunter  stoppin'  here, 
with  a  man  named  Sharpley  ?" 

"  Non,  monsieur.  He  has  been  here,  but 
he  is  gone." 

"  Gone  ?     When  did  he  go  ?" 

"  Three  days  ago." 

"  Three  days !"  repeated  Mr.  Tarbox, 
thoughtfully.  "  He  didn't  stay  long,  then  ?" 

"Only  one  night." 

"  Seems  to  me  he  was  in  a  hurry.  Isn't 
there  nothin'  worth  seein'  round  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  monsieur,"  said  the  landlord, 
with  animation.  "  Geneve  is  a  very  interest 
ing  city.  Would  you  not  like  to  see  how 
they  make  the  watches,  and  the  boxes  of  mu- 
siquef  There  are  many  places  here  that  stran 
gers  do  visit.  There  is  the  cathedral  and  the 
Musee.  Monsieur  should  stay  here  one — two 
weeks." 

"  And  put  up  at  your  tavern  ?" 

"  Eh  ?" 

"  And  stop  up  at  your  hotel  ?" 


MR.  TARBOX  ON  THE  TRAIL.  225 

"  Certaincment,  monsieur." 

"That's  what  I  thought.  Anyhow,  I'll 
stay  here  till  to-morrow.  But  about  this  old 
rascal — " 

"Monsieur?" 

"  I  mean  this  Sharpley,  and  the  boy — 
where  did  they  go  ?" 

"  I  know  not,  monsieur.  They  went  to  see 
the  mountains." 

"  Well,  captain,  as  mountains  in  this  neigh 
borhood  are  about  as  thick  as  huckleberry 
bushes  in  a  pastur',  I  ain't  none  the  wiser 
for  that.  Couldn't  you  tell  me  a  little 
plainer  ?" 

But  this  the  landlord,  or  captain,  as  Mr. 
Tarbox  insisted  upon  calling  him,  was  unable 
to  do.  As  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done, 
our  Yankee  friend  selected  a  room  on  the  top 
floor,  which,  by  reason  of  its  elevation,  he  was 
enabled  to  get  for  two  francs  a  day. 

In  European  hotels  the  rooms  become 
cheaper  the  higher  up  they  are,  and  thus  va 
rious  prices  are  paid  at  the  same  hotel.  It  is 
not  necessarily  expensive,  therefore,  sojourn 
ing  at  a  first-class  hotel  abroad  ;  and,  indeed, 

15 


226  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

it  is  better  than  to  take  lower  rooms  in  an 
inferior  inn,  supposing  the  traveler's  means 
to  be  limited. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Tarbox,  looking  about 
him,  when  he  was  fairly  installed  in  his  room, 
"  my  journey  ain't  going  to  cost  me  so  much, 
after  all.  I  come  third  class  to  Geneva  for 
less' n  ten  dollars,  and  I  can  live  here  pretty 
cheap.  But  that  ain't  the  question.  AVhere- 
abouts  among  these  hills  is  Frank  ?  That's 
what  I'd  like  to  know.  I  wonder  what  that 
step-father  of  his  meant  by  his  talk  about  ac 
cidents  ?  If  anything  happens  to  Frank,  and 
I  find  it  out,  I'll  stir  'em  up,  as  sure  as  my 
name's  Jonathan  Tarbox.  But  I'm  getting 
hungry  ;  I'll  go  down  and  see  what  kind  of 
fodder  they  can  give  me.  I  guess  I'd  better 
clean  up  first,  for  I'm  as  dirty  as  ef  I'd  been 
out  in  the  field  plowin'." 

Mr.  Tarbox  made  a  satisfactory  supper  at 
moderate  expense.  He  didn't  go  to  the  table 
d'hote,  for,  as  he  said,  "They  bring  you  a 
mouthful  of  this,  and  a  mouthful  of  that,  and 
when  you're  through  ten  or  eleven  courses, 
you  have  to  pay  a  dollar,  more  or  less,  and 


MR.  TARBOX  ON  THE  TRAIL.  227 

are  as  hungry  as  when  you  began.  I'd  rather 
order  something  a  la  carle,  as  they  call  it, 
though  what  it  has  to  do  with  a  cart  is  more 
than  I  can  tell,  and  then  I  can  get  enough, 
and  don't  have  so  much  to  pay  neither." 

Mr.  Tarbox  made  further  inquiries  the 
next  day,  but  could  not  ascertain  definitely 
in  what  direction  the  travelers  had  gone. 
There  were  several  possible  routes,  and  they 
were  as  likely  to  have  gone  by  one  as  by  an 
other.  Under  the  circumstances  it  seemed  to 
him  that  it  was  better  to  remain  where  he 
was.  There  was  a  chance  of  the  two  returning 
by  way  of  Geneva,  and  they  would  be  likely 
to  come  to  the  same  hotel ;  while  if  he  started 
off  in  one  direction,  it  would  very  probably 
turn  out  that  they  had  gone  by  another.  One 
circumstance  certainly  favored  his  decision — 
it  was  cheaper  remaining  in  Geneva  than 
in  journeying  off  at  random  in  search  of 
Frank,  and  Mr.  Tarbox,  therefore,  decided  to 
patronize  the  Hotel  des  Bergues  for  a  short 
time  at  least,  trying,  meanwhile,  to  get  some 
clew  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  travelers.  He 
improved  the  time  by  visiting  the  objects  of 


228  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

interest  in  Geneva,  bewildering  the  natives  by 
his  singular  remarks,  and  amusing  strangers 
with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  Some  were 
disposed  to  regard  him  as  a  specimen  of  the 
average  American.  Indeed,  he  bore  a  strik 
ing  resemblance  to  the  typical  American  in 
troduced  by  our  English  friends  in  their 
books  of  travel  and  in  their  dramatic  pro 
ductions. 

He  did  indeed  possess  some  national  char 
acteristics.  He  was  independent,  fearless, 
self-reliant,  hating  injustice  and  oppression, 
but  he  was  without  the  polish,  or  culture,  or 
refinement  which  are  to  be  found  in  the 
traveling  Americans  quite  as  commonly  as  in 
the  traveling  Englishman  or  German.  He 
is  presented  here  as  a  type  of  a  class  which 
does  exist,  but  not  as  an  average  American. 

It  struck  Mr.  Tarbox  that  he  might  obtain 
some  information  of  those  whom  he  sought 
by  inquiring  of  the  travelers  who  came  daily 
to  the  hotel,  whether  they  had  met  with  such 
a  party.  No  diffidence  held  him  back  from 
questioning  closely  all  who  came. 

Some  treated  him  with  hauteur,  and  tried 


MR.  TARBOX  ON  THE  TRAIL.        229 

to  abash  him  by  impressing  him  with  the  un 
warrantable  liberty  he  was  taking  in  intrud 
ing  himself  upon  their  notice. 

In  general,  however,  these  were  snobs,  of 
some  wealth,  but  doubtful  social  position,  who 
felt  it  necessary  to  assert  themselves  upon  all 
occasions. 

But  Mr.  Tarbox  was  not  one  to  be  daunted 
by  coldness,  or  abashed  by  a  repellant  man 
ner.  He  persisted  in  his  questions  until  he 
learned  what  he  wanted.  But  his  questions 
were  without  a  satisfactory  answer  until  one 
day  he  saw  a  gentleman  and  his  son,  whom 
by  their  appearance  he  took  to  be  fellow- 
countrymen.  They  were,  in  fact,  Henry 
Abercrombie  and  his  father,  fresh  from  the 
scene  of  the  accident. 

Mr.  Tarbox  introduced  himself  and  pro 
pounded  his  question. 

Father  and  son  exchanged  a  look  of  sad 
ness. 

"  He  means  poor  Frank,  father,"  said 
Henry. 

"  Poor  Frank !"  repeated  Mr.  Tarbox, 
eagerly.  "  What  makes  you  say  that  ?" 


230  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Were  you  a  friend  of  the  boy  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Abercrombie. 

"  Yes,  and  I  am  still.  He's  a  tip-top  fel 
low,  Frank  is." 

"  I  am  sorry,  then,  to  be  the  bearer  of  sad 
tidings." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Jonathan, 
quickly.  "  Don't  say  anything  has  happened 
to  the  boy." 

"  But  there  has.  He  fell  over  a  cliff,  and 
though  his  body  has  not  been  found,  he  was 
probably  killed  instantly." 

"  Who  was  with  him  when  he  fell  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Tarbox,  excited. 

"  His  guardian,  Mr.  Sharpley.  The  two 
had  wandered  off  by  themselves,  without  a 
guide.  Frank  approached  too  near  the  edge 
of  the  cliff,  lost  his  balance,  and  fell." 

"  That  confounded  skunk  pushed  him 
over !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Tarbox,  in  high  excite 
ment. 

"  You  don't  mean  Colonel  Sharpley  ?"  ex 
claimed  Mr.  Abercrombie,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  I  do.  I  followed  them  from  Paris, 
because  I  was  afraid  of  it." 


MR.  TARBOX  ON  THE  TRAIL.  231 

"  But  it  is  incredible.  I  assure  you  Colo 
nel  Sharpley  showed  great  sorrow  for  the 
accident." 

"  Then  he's  a  hypocrite !  If  you  want 
proof  of  "what  I  say,  just  read  that  letter." 


232  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL, 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

TAEBOX    TO    THE    EESCUE, 

THUS  invited,  Mr.  Abercrombie  read  the 
letter  of  Mr.  Craven,  in  which  he  re 
ferred  to  the  possibility  of  an  accident  befall 
ing  Frank. 

"  What  does  this  prove  ?"  asked  the  reader, 
looking  up. 

"It  proves  that  Sharpley  pushed  Frank 
over  the  cliff,"  said  Mr.  Tarbox,  excitedly. 

"  I  don't  see  that  it  does." 

"  Don't  you  see  how  he  speaks  of  what  is 
to  be  done  if  an  accident  happens  ?" 

"  Yes,  but—" 

"  Doesn't  that  show  that  he  expects  it  ?" 

"  But  we  must  establish  a  motive.  What 
reason  could  Mr.  Craven  have  for  the  murder 
of  his  step-son  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you,  for  Frank  told  me  all  about 


TARBOX  TO  THE  RESCUE.  233 

it.  Frank's  got  money,  and  so  has  his  mother, 
but  Frank's  got  the  most.  If  he  dies,  his 
property  goes  to  his  mother.  His  loss  will 
kill  her,  for  she's  delicate,  so  Frank  says,  and 
then  this  Craven  will  step  into  the  whole  of 
it.  Don't  you  see  ?" 

"There  is  something  in  that,"  said  Mr. 
Abercrombie,  thoughtfully.  "  Indeed,  it 
would  explain  a  part  of  Colonel  Sharpley's 
conduct  on  the  day  of  the  accident." 

"What  did  he  do?"  asked  Mr.  Tarbox, 
eagerly. 

"  I  invited  him  to  accompany  my  son  and 
myself  on  an  excursion.  He  refused,  saying 
that  he  didn't  feel  like  the  exertion  of  an 
ascent.  Then  I  invited  Frank  to  accompany 
us,  but  he  refused  to  let  him  go.  He  said 
he  might  take  a  short  tramp,  and  wanted  his 
company." 

"The  skunk!" 

"  Again,  though  urged  afterward  to  take  a 
guide,  he  refused  to  do  so,  but  took  a  long 
walk — he  and  the  boy  being  alone." 

"  I'd  like  to  wring  his  neck  !"  ejaculated 
Jonathan. 


234  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Besides,  Frank  could  not  have  fallen  un 
less  he  was  very  imprudent.  Now,  he  never 
struck  me  as  a  rash  or  heedless  boy." 

"  He  wasn't," 

"  It  doesn't  seem  at  all  like  him  voluntarily 
to  place  himself  in  such  peril,  yet  Colonel 
Sharpley  says  he  did." 

"  He  lies,  the  murderous  skunk  !" 

"  It  did  not  strike  me  at  first,  hut  I  fear 
that  you  are  right,  and  that  the  poor  hoy  has 
been  foully  dealt  with." 

"  Isn't  there  any  hope  ?"  asked  Mr.  Tarbox, 
blowing  his  nose  violently  in  order  to  get  a 
chance  to  wipe  away  the  tears  which  the  sup 
posed  sad  fate  of  our  hero  called  forth.  "  How 
high  was  the  hill  ?" 

"  I  fear  there  is  no  hope.  We  searched  for 
the  body,  but  did  not  find  it," 

"  Then  he  may  be  living,"  said  Mr.  Tar- 
box,  brightening  up, 

"  There  is  hardly  a  chance  of  it,  I  should 
say,"  returned  Mr.  Abercrombie,  gravely. 
"  The  descent  was  deep  and  precipitous." 

"  Where  is  the  villain  Sharpley  ?" 

"  He  left  the  next  day.     He  said  he  should 


TARBOX  TO  THE  RESCUE.  235 

hurry  back  to  America  to  carry  the  sad  news 
to  the  parents  of  the  poor  boy." 

"  And  get  his  pay  from  Craven." 

"  I  hope,  Mr.  Tarbox,  that  your  suspicions 
are  groundless.  I  should  be  very  unwilling 
to  believe  in  such  wickedness." 

"  I  hope  so,  too.  If  it  was  an  accident  I 
should  think  it  was  the  will  of  God  ;  but  if 
that  villain  has  murdered  him  I  know  it 
ain't.  I  wish  I  could  overhaul  Sharpley." 

11  What  do  you  propose  to  do,  Mr.  Tar- 
box  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Abercrombie.  Fust  and 
foremost,  I'm  going  to  that  place  where  the 
accident  happened,  and  I  mean  to  find  Frank 
dead  or  alive.  If  he's  dead,  I'll  try  to  find 
out  if  he  was  murdered  or  not.  If  he's  alive, 
I'll  take  care  of  him,  and  he'll  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

"  Mr.  Tarbox,"  said  the  other,  taking  his 
hand,  "  I  respect  you  for  the  strength  of  your 
attachment  to  the  poor  lad.  I  saw  but  little 
of  him,  but  enough  to  be  assured  that  he  was 
a  bold,  manly  boy,  of  a  noble  nature  and  a 
kind  disposition.  Pardon  me  for  the  offer  I 


236  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

am  about  to  make,  but  I  hope  you  will  allow 
me  to  pay  the  expenses  of  this  investigation. 
You  give  your  time ;  let  me  give  my  money, 
which  is  of  less  value." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Abercrombie,"  said  Mr. 
Tarbox.  "  You're  a  gentleman  ;  but  I've  got 
a  little  money,  and  I'd  just  as  lief  use  it  for 
Frank.  I'll  pay  my  own  expenses." 

'*  At  any  rate,  I  will  give  you  my  address, 
and  if  you  get  short  of  money  I  hope  you  will 
apply  to  me  without  fail." 

"  I  will,  squire,"  said  Jonathan. 

So  they  parted. 

Mr.  Tarbox  set  out  immediately  for  the 
Hotel  du  Glacier. 


SAVED  AS  BY  A  MIEACLE.  237 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

SAVED    AS   BY    A    MIRACLE. 

BUT   where   all   this   while    was    Frank? 
Had  he  really  fallen   a  victim  to  the 
murderous  designs  of  his   treacherous  guar 
dian  ?     My  readers  have  been  kept  too  long 
in  suspense  as  to  his  fate. 

At  the  moment  of  falling  he  was  fully 
conscious,  but  too  late,  of  his  companion's 
treachery.  In  that  terrible  moment  there 
flashed  upon  him  a  full  knowledge  of  the  plot 
of  which  he  was  a  victim,  and  he  had  time  to 
connect  with  it  his  step- father  as  the  prime 
author  and  instigator  of  the  deed.  It  was 
indeed  a  terrible  experience.  In  the  full  flush 
of  youthful  life  and  strength  the  gates  of 
death  swung  open  before  him,  and  he  gave 
himself  up  for  lost,  resigning  himself  to  his 
fearful  fate  as  well  as  he  could. 


238  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

But  there  was  one  thought  of  anguish — his 
mother !  How  would  she  grieve  over  his  un 
timely  death  !  And  the  wretch  who  had  in 
stigated  his  murder,  would  he  stop  short, 
content,  or  would  he  next  assail  her? 

In  times  of  danger  the  mind  acts  quickly. 
All  these  thoughts  passed  through  the  mind 
of  our  hero  as  he  fell,  but  all  at  once  there 
was  a  violent  shock.  He  had  stopped  falling, 
yet  he  was  not  dead,  only  stunned.  There 
was  a  ledge  part  way  down,  a  hollow  rilled 
with  soft  snow — making  a  natural  bed,  and  it 
was  upon  this  that  he  had  fallen.  Yet,  soft  as 
it  was,  the  shock  was  sufficient  to  deprive  him 
of  consciousness. 

When  he  became  sensible  of  surrounding 
objects — that  is,  when  his  consciousness  re 
turned —  he  looked  about  him  in  bewilder 
ment. 

Where  was  he  ? 

Not  surely  on  the  ledge,  for,  looking  around 
him,  he  saw  the  walls  of  a  small  and  humble 
apartment,  scantily  provided  with  needful 
furniture.  He  wras  lying  upon  a  bed,  a  poor 
wooden  bedstead.  There  was  another  person 


SAVED  AS  BY  A  MIRACLE.  239 

in  the  room  — a  woman,  so  humbly  attired 
that  he  knew  she  was  a  Swiss  peasant. 

"Where  am  I?"  he  asked,  bewildered. 

The  woman  turned  quickly,  and  her 
homely,  sun -browned  face  glowed  with  pleas 
ure. 

"  You  are  awake,  monsieur  ?"  she  said,  in 
the  French  language. 

I  have  already  said  that  Frank  was  a 
French  scholar,  and  could  understand  the 
language  to  a  limited  extent,  as  well  as  speak 
it  somewhat.  He  understood  her,  and  an 
swered  in  French  : 

"  Yes,  madame,  I  am  awake.  Will  you 
kindly  tell  rne  where  I  am  ?" 

"  You  met  with  an  accident,  monsieur.  My 
husband  and  my  brother  were  upon  the 
mountain,  and  found  you  on  a  ledge  covered 
with  snow7." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Frank,  shuddering. 
"  When  was  that  ?" 

"  Yesterday.  You  have  slept  since  then. 
How  do  you  feel  ?" 

"  I  feel  sore  and  bruised.  Are  any  of  my 
limbs  broken?" 


240  FKANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

He  moved  his  arms  and  legs,  but,  to  liis 
great  joy,  ascertained  that  though  sore,  no 
bones  were  broken. 

"  It  was  a  wonderful  escape,"  said  the 
woman.  "  You  must  have  fallen  from  the 
cliff  above/' 

"  I  did." 

"  But  for  falling  on  the  ledge,  you  would 
have  been  killed." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Frank,  "  but  Heaven  be 
thanked,  I  have  escaped." 

"  How  did  you  fall  ?"  asked  the  woman. 
"  That  was  what  my  husband  and  my 
brother,  Antoine,  could  not  understand.  You 
must  have  been  leaning  over." 

Frank  paused. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  now,"  he  answered. 
"  Perhaps  I  will  soon." 

"  When  you  please,  monsieur,  but  you  must 
be  hungry." 

"  I  am  indeed  hungry,  madame.  I  suppose 
it  is  more  than  twenty-four  hours  since  I 
have  tasted  anything." 

"  Poor  boy  !"  said  the  woman,  compassion 
ately.  "  I  will  at  once  get  you  something  to 


SAVED  AS  BY  A  MIRACLE.  241 

eat.  We  are  poor  people,  monsieur,  and  you 
may  not  like  our  plain  fare." 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  madame.  You  are  only 
too  kind  to  me.  I  can  eat  anything." 

Frank  had  only  spoken  the  truth.  He  was 
almost  famished ;  and  when  the  food  was  set 
before  him,  plain  as  it  was,  he  ate  with  eager 
satisfaction,  to  the  evident  pleasure  of  his 
kindly  hostess.  But  in  sitting  up,  he  realized 
by  the  soreness  of  his  limbs  and  the  aching 
of  his  back,  that  though  no  bones  were  bro 
ken,  he  was  far  from  being  in  a  condition  to 
get  up.  It  was  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that 
he  sank  back  upon  the  bed,  and  with  listless 
eyes  watched  the  movements  of  his  hostess. 
He  was  not  equal  to  the  exertion  of  forming 
plans  for  the  future. 


16 


242  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PEEIL. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

FRANK'S  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR. 

A  LTHOUGH  Frank  was  pretty  well 
J\.  bruised  by  his  fall,  his  youth  and  the 
vigor  of  his  constitution  enabled  him  to  re 
cover  rapidly  from  the  effects  of  the  shock. 
On  the  third  day  he  got  up  and  took  a  short 
walk.  On  the  fifth  day  he  felt  well  enough 
to  leave  his  hospitable  entertainers. 

But  where  should  he  go  ? 

Should  he  return  to  the  Hotel  du  Glacier 
and  place  himself  again  in  the  clutches  of 
his  treacherous  guardian  ?  He  felt  that  to  be 
out  of  the  question.  Besides,  he  rightly  con 
jectured  that  Sharpley  had  already  left  the 
hotel.  No,  he  must  detach  himself  wholly 
from  his  enemy.  He  must  rely  upon  him 
self.  He  must  get  home  the  best  way  he 
could,  and  then  expose  the  conspirators,  for  he 
was  convinced  that  Mr.  Craven  was  involved 
in  it.  But  a  serious  difficulty  presented  itself. 


FRANK'S  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  243 

He  was  about  four  thousand  miles  from  home, 
and  to  return,  as  well  as  to  stay  where  he  was, 
required  money.  This  led  him  to  an  exam 
ination  of  his  finances.  He  never  carried 
much  money  with  him,  Sharpley  being  treas 
urer.  Opening  his  pocket-book,  he  found  he 
had  sixty  francs  only,  or  about  twelve  dollars 
in  gold.  Now,  as  my  readers  will  readily 
judge,  twelve  dollars  is  hardly  adequate  for  a 
return  journey  from  Switzerland  to  America. 

Had  Frank  been  dismayed  at  this  situation 
it  would  hardly  have  created  surprise,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  he  felt  in  very  good  spirits. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  shall  starve,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  If  I  can  only  get  to  Paris,  I  will 
seek  out  Mr.  Tarbox,  and  I  am  sure  he  will 
lend  me  money  enough  to  get  home." 

But  had  he  enough  to  get  to  Paris  ?  Barely 
enough  to  travel  third  class  ;  but  then  he  must 
remember  the  good  people  who  had  found 
and  taken  care  of  him.  For  this  alone,  twelve 
dollars  was  inadequate.  But  he  could  take 
their  names,  and  promise  to  send  them  more 
from  America. 

His  difficulty  would  have  been  far  less  great 


244  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

had  he  known  that  at  that  very  moment  Mr. 
Tarbox  had  just  arrived  at  the  Hotel  du  Gla 
cier  in  search  of  him,  prepared  to  help  him  to 
the  best  of  his  ability.  But  of  this  he  knew 
nothing. 

So,  on  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day,  Frank 
announced  to  his  humble  friends  that  he  must 
leave  them. 

"  But  are  you  ^trong  enough,  monsieur  ?" 
asked  the  peasant's  wife. 

"  Oh,  yes,  madame ;  thanks  to  your  kind 
care,  I  am  quite  recovered." 

"  And  monsieur  will  go  to  his  friends  ?" 

"  I  have  no  friends  in  Europe." 

"  What  I  so  young  and  alone  ?" 

"  I  did  not  come  alone.  I  came  in  charge 
of  a  man  whom  I  thought  friendly,  but  it  was 
he  who  threw  me  over  the  cliff  and  nearly 
killed  me." 

"  Surely,  monsieur  is  mistaken  !"  exclaimed 
the  woman,  astonished. 

"No,"  answered  Frank.  "He  is  my  en 
emy.  It  is  a  long  story  ;  but  at  home  I  am 
rich,  and  I  think  he  is  employed  by  my  step 
father  to  kill  me." 


FRANK'S  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  245 

In  answer  to  questions,  Frank  gave  a  gen 
eral  account  of  the  circumstances  to  the  worthy 
people,  and  closed  by  saying  :  "  When  I  have 
returned  to  America,  I  shall  send  you  suitable 
compensation  for  your  kindness.  Now,  I  can 
only  give  you  enough  to  pay  what  you  have 
expended  for  me." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  two  Napoleons 
(two-thirds  of  his  available  means),  and  in 
sisted  upon  their  acceptance.  They  at  first 
refused  to  take  the  money,  but  finally  ac 
cepted  it. 

Had  they  known  that  Frank  would  be  left 
with  but  twenty  francs  himself,  they  would 
have  taken  nothing,  but  Americans  abroad  are 
popularly  supposed  to  be  even  richer  than 
they  are,  and  it  never  occurred  to  them  to 
suspect  our  hero's  present  poverty. 

They  stood  in  the  doorway,  watching  him 
as  he  started  off  with  a  firm  step,  and  a  heart 
almost  as  light  as  his  purse,  and  heartily 
joined  in  the  wish,  "  Bon  voyage,  mon 


sieur." 


Frank  waved  his  hat,  smiling,  and  set  out 
on  his  way. 


246  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

Had  our  hero  been  well  provided  with 
money,  nothing  could  have  been  more  agree 
able  than  a  pedestrian  journey  amid  the  beau 
tiful  scenery  of  the  Alps.  Even  as  it  was, 
Frank  felt  the  exhilarating  influences  of  the 
fresh  morning  air  and  the  grand  scenery, 
visible  on  all  sides,  for  he  was  hemmed  in  by 
mountains. 

His  proposed  terminus  being  Paris,  he 
kept  a  general  northwesterly  course,  making 
inquiries  when  at  all  at  a  loss  as  to  the 
road. 

At  midday  he  found  himself  in  a  little  vil 
lage.  By  this  time  he  was  hungry.  He  did 
not  go  to  a  hotel.  He  felt  that  his  slender 
store  of  money  would  not  justify  it.  He 
stopped,  instead,  at  a  cottage,  and  for  a  few 
cents  obtained  a  pint  of  milk  and  a  small 
loaf.  This  fare  was  plain  enough,  but  appe 
tite  is  the  best  sauce,  and  his  hunger  made  it 
taste  delicious. 

He  rested  for  three  hours,  then,  when  the 
sun's  rays  were  less  powerful,  he  resumed  his 
journey. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  he  had  ac- 


FRANK'S  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  247 

complished  about  twenty-five  miles,  and  was 
foot-sore  and  weary.  He  selected  another 
cottage,  and  made  application  for  supper  and 
a  bed. 

"  Monsieur  will  do  better  to  go  to  the 
hotel,"  said  the  peasant.  "  We  are  poor 
people,  and  our  accommodations  are  too 
humble  for  a  gentleman  like  monsieur." 

Frank  smiled.  He  saw  that  they  judged  of 
his  means  by  his  clothing,  which  was  of  fine 
texture  and  fashionable  cut,  for  he  had  pur 
chased  a  traveling  suit  in  London. 

"  I  have  been  robbed  of  nearly  all  my 
money,"  he  explained  (this  was  true,  for  it 
was  in  Sharpley's  possession),  "and  I  cannot 
afford  to  go  to  the  hotel.  If  you  will  let  me 
stay  here,  I  will  gladly  accept  what  accommo 
dations  you  have  to  offer." 

"  Oh,  in  that  case,  monsieur,"  said  the 
peasant's  wife,  cheerfully,  "  you  are  quite  wel 
come.  Come  right  in." 

Frank  entered.  He  soon  had  set  before 
him  a  supper  of  bread,  milk  and  honey,  to 
which  he  did  ample  justice.  Then  he  asked 
permission  to  bathe  his  feet,  which  were 


248  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

sore.  At  nine  o'clock  lie  went  to  bed,  and, 
as  might  have  been  expected,  enjoyed  a  sound 
sleep,  which  refreshed  him  not  a  little. 

I  have  described  this  one  day  as  a  specimen 
of  the  manner  in  which  Frank  traveled.  The 
charges  were  so  small  that  he  made  his  money 
go  a  long  way.  But  the  stock  was  so  small 
that  it  steadily  became  less  with  formidable 
rapidity,  and  our  young  hero  found  himself 
with  poverty  staring  him  in  the  face.  He 
had  traveled  over  a  hundred  miles,  nearly  a 
hundred  and  fifty,  when,  on  counting  his 
money,  he  found  that  he  had  but  forty  cents 
(or  two  francs)  left.  This  was  a  serious  state 
of  things. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  thought  Frank,  as 
he  sat  down  by  the  wayside  to  reflect  on  his 
situation.  "  To-morrow  I  shall  be  penniless, 
and  I  must  be  six  or  seven  hundred  miles 
from  Paris,  more  or  less.  One  thing  is  cer 
tain,  I  can't  travel  for  nothing.  What  shall 
I  do?" 

Frank  reflected  that  if  he  were  in  America 
he  would  seek  for  a  job  at  sawing  wood,  or 
any  other  kind  of  unskilled  labor  for  which 


FRANK'S  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  249 

he  was  competent.  He  could  hire  himself 
out  for  a  month,  till  he  could  obtain  money 
enough  to  prosecute  his  journey.  But  it  was 
evident  that  there  was  very  little  chance  of 
this  resource  here.  The  peasants  at  whose 
cottages  he  stopped  were  poor  in  money ;  they 
had  none  to  spare,  and  they  did  their  own 
work.  Besides,  it  was  not  likely  that  his  ser 
vices  would  be  worth  much  to  them.  There 
was  one  thing  he  might  do.  He  might  remain 
over  a  few  days  somewhere,  and  write  mean 
while  to  Jonathan  Tarbox,  in  Paris,  asking 
him  to  send  him  fifty  francs  or  so.  But, 
somehow,  Frank  did  not  like  to  do  this.  As 
we  know,  it  would  have  done  no  good,  as  Mr. 
Tarbox  was  now  in  Switzerland  seeking  him. 
He  felt  that  he  would  like  to  make  his  way  to 
Paris  unaided  if  possible.  But  how  to  do  it 
was  a  difficult  problem. 

He  was  plunged  in  deep  reflection  on  this 
point  when  his  attention  was  called  to  a  boy 
of  seven,  who  came  running  past  crying  and 
sobbing. 

"  Qu"  avez  vous?"  asked  Frank ;  or,  "What 
is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 


250  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  understand  French,"  said  the 
boy. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  asked  our  hero,  in 
English. 

"  I  am  lost,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  don't  know 
where  papa  or  sister  is." 

"  Don't  cry.  I  will  help  you  to  find  them. 
But,  first,  tell  me  what  is  your  name,  and 
how  you  happened  to  get  lost." 

"  My  name  is  Herbert  Grosvenor,"  an 
swered  the  little  fellow. 

He  went  on  to  say  that  his  father  was  a 
London  merchant,  who  was  traveling  with 
himself  and  his  sister  Beatrice.  He  had 
walked  out  in  charge  of  a  servant,  but  the 
latter  had  stopped  at  an  inn  and  became 
drunk.  Then  he  became  so  violent  that 
Herbert  was  afraid  and  ran  away.  But  he 
was  too  young  to  know  the  road,  and  had  lost 
his  way. 

"I  shall  never  see  my  papa  again,"  he 
sobbed. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will,"  said  Frank,  encourag 
ingly.  "  I  will  take  you  to  him.  Do  you 
remember  where  he  is  stopping  ?" 


FRANK'S  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  251 

The  boy  was  luckily  able  to  answer  cor 
rectly  that  his  father  was  stopping  at  the 
Hotel  de  la  Couronne,  in  a  large  town,  which 
Frank  knew  to  be  only  two  miles  distant. 

"  Come,  Herbert,"  he  said,  cheerfully,  "  I 
will  carry  you  back  to  your  father.  Take  my 
hand,  and  we  will  set  out  at  once,  if  you  are 
not  tired." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  am  not  tired.  I  can  walk/' 
said  the  little  boy,  brightening  up,  and  put 
ting  his  hand  with  confidence  in  that  of  his 
young  protector. 


252  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

NEW    FRIEXDS. 

WHEN  Frank  arrived  at  the  hotel  with 
his  young  charge  he  found  the  Gros- 
venor  family  in  great  dismay.  The  servant 
had  returned,  evidently  under  the  influence 
of  liquor,  quite  unable  to  give  any  account 
of  the  little  boy.  A  party,  headed  by  Mr. 
Grosvenor,  was  about  starting  out  in  search 
of  him,  when  he  made  his  appearance,  cling 
ing  trustfully  to  the  hand  of  our  hero. 

"Oh,  you  naughty  runaway !"  said  his 
sister  Beatrice,  a  lovely  girl  of  twelve,  folding 
Herbert  in  a  sisterly  embrace.  "  How  you 
have  frightened  us !" 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  sister,"  said  Herbert. 

"  What  made  you  run  away  from  Thomas, 
my  boy  ?"  asked  his  father. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  him,"  said  Herbert.  "  He 
was  so  strange." 

The  cause  of  the  strange  conduct  was  evi- 


I 


THE    LITTLE    RUNAWAY. 


NEW  FRIENDS.  253 

dent  enough  to  any  one  who  saw  the  servant's 
present  condition,  for  he  was  too  stupefied 
even  to  defend  himself. 

"It's  a  shame,  father,"  said  Beatrice. 
"  Only  think,  our  darling  little  Herbie  might 
have  been  lost.  I  hope  you  will  never  trust 
him  again  with  Thomas." 

"  I  shall  not,"  said  the  father,  decidedly. 
"  Thomas  has  forfeited  my  confidence,  and  he 
must  leave  my  service.  I  shall  pay  his  pas 
sage  back  to  London,  and  there  he  must  shift 
for  himself." 

"  You  have  not  thanked  the  young  gentle 
man  who  brought  him  back,  father,"  said 
Beatrice,  in  a  low  voice. 

Mr.  Grosvenor  turned  to  Frank. 

"  Accept  my  warmest  thanks,  young  gen 
tleman,"  he  said,  "  for  your  kindness  to  my 
little  son." 

"It  was  only  a  trifle,  sir,"  said  our  hero, 
modestly. 

"  It  was  no  trifle  to  us.  How  did  you  hap 
pen  to  meet  him  ?" 

"  I  was  resting  by  the  road-side,  when  he 
came  along,  crying.  I  asked  him  what  was 


254  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

the  matter,  and  he  told  me.  -Then  I  offered 
to  guide  him  to  you." 

"  And  thereby  relieved  our  deep  anxiety. 
We  were  very  much  frightened  when  Thomas 
returned  without  him." 

"  I  don't  wonder,  sir." 

"  You  are  English,  I  infer,"  said  Mr.  Gros- 
venor. 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  am  an  American." 

"  You  are  not  traveling  alone — at  your 
age?"  said  the  merchant,  in  surprise. 

"  I  was  not — that  is,  I  came  from  America 
with  another  person,  but  I  parted  from  him 
in  Switzerland." 

Frank  refrained  from  explaining  under 
what  circumstances  he  parted  from  Sharpley, 
partly  from  a  natural  reluctance  to  revive  so 
unpleasant  a  subject,  partly  because  he  did 
not  like  to  trouble  the  Grosvenors  with  his 
affairs. 

"  It  must  be  lonely  traveling  without 
friends,"  said  Mr.  Grosvenor.  "  My  daughter 
and  I  would  feel  glad  to  have  you  join  our 
party." 

"  Oh,  yes,  papa !"  said  Beatrice. 


NEW  FRIENDS.  255 

Frank  turned  towards  the  beautiful  girl 
who  spoke  so  impulsively,  and  he  could  not 
help  feeling  that  it  would  indeed  be  a  pleasure 
to  travel  in  her  society.  I  don't  mean  to 
represent  him  as  in  love,  for  at  his  age  that 
would  be  foolish  ;  but  he  had  never  had  a 
sister,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  would 
have  been  glad  to  have  such  a  sister  as  Bea 
trice.  But  how  could  he,  with  less  than  forty 
sous  to  defray  his  traveling  expenses,  join  the 
party  of  a  wealthy  London  merchant  ?  Had 
he  the  money  that  rightfully  belonged  to  him, 
now  in  Sharpley's  hands,  there  would  have 
been  no  difficulty. 

"  You  hesitate,"  said  Mr.  Grosvenor.  "  Per 
haps  it  would  interfere  with  your  plans  to  go 
with  us." 

"  No,  sir ;  it  is  not  that,"  and  Frank  hesi 
tated  again. 

It  was  an  embarrassing  moment,  but  he 
decided  quickly  to  make  the  merchant  ac 
quainted  with  his  circumstances. 

"  If  you  will  favor  me  with  five  minutes' 
private  conversation,"  he  said,  "  I  will  tell  you 
why  I  hesitate." 


256  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Grosvenor,  politely, 
and  led  the  way  into  the  hotel. 

The  nature  of  Frank's  explanation  is,  of 
course,  anticipated  by  the  reader.  He  related, 
as  briefly  as  possible,  the  particulars  of  Sharp- 
ley's  plot.  The  merchant  listened  with  sur 
prise. 

"  This  is  certainly  a  singular  story/7  he 
said,  "  and  you  have  been  treated  with  the 
blackest  treachery.  Do  you  know,  or  do  you 
guess,  what  has  become  of  this  man  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  think  he  has  started  to 
return  to  America,  or  will  do  so  soon." 

"And  what  are  your  plans?" 

"  I  mean  to  go  to  Paris.  There  I  have  a 
friend  who  I  think  will  help  me — an  Ameri 
can  with  whom  I  became  acquainted  on  the 
voyage  over." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  poorly  provided  with 
money  ?" 

"  I  have  less  than  two  francs  left,"  Frank 
acknowledged. 

The  merchant  looked  amazed. 

"  You  were  actually  reduced  to  that  ?"  he 
exclaimed, 


NEW  FRIENDS.  257 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  How  did  you  expect  to  get  to  Paris?" 

Frank  smiled. 

"  That  is  what  puzzled  me,"  he  owned.  "  I 
was  sitting  by  the  roadside  thinking  how  I 
should  accomplish  it  when  your  little  boy 
came  along." 

Now  it  was  Mr.  Grosvenor's  turn  to  smile. 

"  He  solved  it,"  he  said. 

"  Who,  sir  ?"  asked  Frank. 

"  My  little  boy,"  said  Mr.  Grosvenor,  still 
smiling. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  our  hero,  puz 
zled. 

"  I  mean  that  Herbert  shall  act  as  your 
banker.  That  is,  on  account  of  your  kindness 
to  him,  I  propose  to  add  you  to  my  party,  and 
advance  you  such  sums  as  you  may  require." 

"You  are  very  kind,  sir,"  said  Frank,  re 
lieved  and  grateful.  "  I  really  don't  know 
what  I  should  have  done  without  some  such 
assistance." 

"  Then  it  is  arranged,  and  you  will  join  us 
at  dinner,  which  is  already  ordered.  I  will 
order  a  room  to  be  made  ready  for  you." 

17 


258  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  I  hope,  sir,  you  will  excuse  my  dress," 
said  Frank,  who,  it  must  be  confessed,  might 
have  looked  neater.  He  had  walked  for  sev 
eral  days,  and  was  in  consequence  very  dusty. 
Then  again,  his  shirt  and  collar  had  been 
worn  ever  since  his  accident,  and  were  de 
cidedly  dirty. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  my  appearance,  sir," 
continued  our  hero  ;  "  but  Colonel  Sharpley's 
treachery  compelled  me  to  travel  without  my 
trunk,  and  I  have  not  even  a  change  of 
linen." 

Mr.  Grosvenor  could  not  forbear  smiling. 

"  You  are  certainly  in  an  awkward  condi 
tion,"  he  said.  "  I  will  apologize  for  you  to 
Beatrice,  the  only  lady  of  our  party,  and  we 
will  see  after  dinner  if  we  cannot  repair  your 
loss." 

Frank  used  a  brush  diligently,  and  suc 
ceeded  in  making  his  outer  clothes  presenta 
ble  ;  but,  alas !  no  brush  could  restore  the 
original  whiteness  of  his  dingy  linen;  and  he 
flushed  crimson  as  he  entered  the  dining- 
room,  and  by  direction  of  Mr.  Grosvenor  took 
a  seat  next  to  Beatrice,  who  looked  so  fresh 


NEW  FRIENDS.  259 

and  rosy  and  clean  as  to  make  the  contrast 
even  more  glaring.  But  her  cordial  greeting 
soon  put  him  at  ease. 

"  Papa  has  been  telling  me  of  that  horrid 
man  who  tried  to  kill  you,"  she  commenced. 
"  What  a  wretch  he  must  be  I" 

"I  think  he  is  one,"  said  Frank;  "  but 
until  the  accident  happened — that  is,  till  he 
pushed  me  over  the  cliff — I  had  no  idea  of 
his  design." 

"  And  he  left  you  without  any  money, 
didn't  he?" 

"  With  very  little — just  what  I  happened 
to  have  about  me.  I  paid  most  of  that  to  the 
peasant  who  found  me  and  took  care  of  me." 

"Didn't  you  almost  starve?" 

"  No ;  but  my  meals  were  very  plain.  I 
didn't  dare  to  eat  as  much  as  I  would  have 
liked." 

"  And  I  suppose  that  horrid  man  has  gone 
off  with  your  money  ?"  said  Beatrice,  indig 
nantly. 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  Her  name  isn't  miss,"  said  little  Herbert. 
"  It's  Beatrice." 


260  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Herbert  is  right,"  said  Beatrice,  smiling. 
"  I  am  not  a  young  lady  yet — I  am  only 
twelve." 

"  Then,"  said  our  hero,  who  was  fast  getting 
to  feel  at  home  in  his  new  surroundings,  "  as 
I  am  not  a  young  gentleman  yet,  I  suppose 
you  will  call  me  Frank." 

"  I  will  call  you  Frank,"  said  Herbert. 

"  Then  I  suppose  I  must  do  so  to  be  in 
fashion,"  said  Beatrice,  laughing. 

"  I  certainly  don't  look  like  a  young  gen 
tleman  in  these  dirty  clothes,"  said  our  hero. 
"Perhaps  Herbert  will  lend  me  a  suit?" 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Grosvenor,  "  we  shall 
be  able  to  refit  you  without  drawing  from 
Herbert's  wardrobe." 

So  the  conversation  went  on,  and  our  hero, 
before  the  dinner  closed,  found  himself  en 
tirely  at  his  ease  in  spite  of  his  soiled  clothes. 


HOW  THE  NEWS  WENT  HOME.       261 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

HOW  THE  NEWS  WENT  HOME. 

TT^RANK   had  one   source  of  anxiety  and 
I        embarrassment   connected  with  his  re 
cent  adventure  which  had  occupied  a  consid 
erable  space  of  his  thoughts. 

It  was  this.  How  could  he  let  his  mother 
know  that  he  was  still  alive  without  its  coming 
to  the  knowledge  of  Mr.  Craven  ?  Convinced, 
as  he  was,  that  his  step- father  was  at  the  bot 
tom  of  the  treacherous  plot  to  which  he  had 
nearly  fallen  a  victim,  he  wished  him  to  sup 
pose  that  it  had  succeeded  in  order  to  see 
what  course  he  would  pursue  in  consequence. 
His  subsequent  course  would  confirm  his 
share  in  the  plot  or  relieve  him  from  any 
complicity,  and  Frank  wanted  to  know,  once 
for  all,  whether  he  was  to  regard  his  step 
father  as  a  disguised  and  dangerous  foe  or  not. 
But  he  was  not  willing  that  his  mother  should 


262  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

rest  long  under  the  impression  that  he  had 
perished  among  the  Alps.  In  her  delicate 
state  of  health  he  feared  that  it  would  prove 
too  much  for  her,  and  that  it  might  bring  on 
a  fit  of  sickness.  He  wished,  therefore,  in 
some  way,  to  communicate  to  her  secretly  the 
knowledge  that  he  had  escaped.  But  if  he 
wrote  Mr.  Craven  would  see  the  letter  or 
know  that  one  had  been  received.  Evi 
dently,  therefore,  he  could  not  write  directly 
to  her. 

After  some  perplexity,  he  saw  a  way  out  of 
the  difficulty. 

He  had  recently  received  a  letter  from  his 
old  friend  and  school  companion,  Ben  Came 
ron,  stating  that  the  latter  had  gone  to  Wake- 
field,  ten  miles  distant,  to  spend  two  months 
with  an  uncle,  and  asking  Frank  to  direct  his 
next  letter  there.  It  flashed  upon  our  hero 
that  he  could  write  to  Ben,  giving  him  an  ac 
count  of  what  had  happened,  and  asking  him 
to  acquaint  his  mother  secretly,  saying  nothing 
of  this  letter  in  case  he  should  hear  that  he, 
Frank,  was  dead. 

The   day  after   he  joined    the    Grosveuor 


HOW  THE  NEWS  WENT  HOME.       263 

party  he  carried  out  this  plan,  writing  a 
long  letter  to  Ben,  which  terminated  as  fol 
lows  : 

"  I  feel  sure  that  Mr.  Craven  is  at  the  bottom  of 
this  attempt  upon  my  life,  and  I  think  that  his  plan 
is  to  get  possession  of  my  money.  He  knows  that 
mother's  health  would  be  very  much  affected  by  the 
news  of  any  fatal  accident  to  me,  and  that  she  would 
easily  be  induced  to  put  all  business  into  his  hands. 
He  would  find  it  very  easy  to  cheat  a  woman.  You 
may  ask  why  Colonel  Sharpley  should  be  induced 
to  join  in  such  a  plot.  That  I  can't  tell,  but  I  think 
he  is  not  very  rich,  and  that  Mr.  Craven  has  offered 
to  divide  with  him  in  case  they  succeed.  Otherwise, 
I  can  think  of  no  motive  he  could  have  for  attempt 
ing  to  kill  me.  We  have  always  been  on  good  terms 
so  far  as  I  know. 

"  I  may  be  wrong  in  all  this,  but  I  don't  think  I 
am.  I  suppose  Colonel  Sharpley  has  written  home 
that  I  am  dead,  and  I  think  that  he  will  soon  go  to 
America  to  receive  his  pay  for  the  deed.  Now,  Ben, 
as  you  are  my  friend,  I  want  you  to  manage  to  see 
my  mother  privately,  and  tell  her  that  I  am  well — 
perfectly  well — that  I  have  escaped  almost  by  a 
miracle,  and  that  though  without  money,  I  have 
found  friends  who  will  supply  all  my  needs  and  give 
me  money  to  return  to  America.  She  is  not  to  let 
anybody  know  that  she  has  heard  from  me,  but  to 
wait  till  I  come  home,  as  I  shall  soon.  Especially 


264  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

if  Mr.  Craven  tries  to  get  hold  of  my  property,  tell 
mother  to  resist  and  refuse  utterly  to  allow  it.  I 
advise  her  also  to  take  care  how  she  trusts  Mr. 
Craven  with  her  own  money. 

"I  shall  not  write  you  again,  Ben,  for  fear  my  let 
ters  might  be  seen.  But  some  day  I  shall  come 
home  unexpectedly.  Let  mother  see  this  letter  and 
then  destroy  it. 

"  Your  affectionate  friend, 

"FRANK  HUNTER." 

It  was  fortunate  that  Frank  wrote  this  let 
ter  ;  but  we  must  precede  it,  and,  after  a  long 
interval,  look  in  upon  the  home  he  had  left. 

One  day  Mr.  Craven  took  from  the  village 
post-office  a  letter. 

He  opened  it  eagerly,  and,  as  he  read  it, 
his  face  showed  the  gratification  which  he  felt. 
But  lest  this  should  be  noticed,  he  immedi 
ately  smoothed  his  face  and  assumed  a  look 
of  grave  and  hypocritical  sadness. 

This  was  the  letter : 

"  DEAR  MR  CRAVEN  : — It  is  with  great  sorrow  that 
I  sit  down  to  write  you  this  letter.  I  would,  if  I 
could,  commit  to  another  hand  the  task  of  commu 
nicating  the  terrible  news  which  I  have  to  impart. 
Not  to  keep  you  longer  in  suspense,  your  step- son, 


HOW  THE  NEWS  WENT  HOME.       265 

Frank  Hunter,  met  with  a  fatal  accident  yesterday, 
while  ascending  the  Alps  with  me.  He  approached 
too  near  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  though  I  warned 
him  of  his  danger,  and  insisted  on  looking  over. 
Whether  he  became  dizzy  or  slipped  I  cannot  ex 
plain,  but,  to  my  horror,  a  moment  later  I  saw  the 
unfortunate  boy  slip  over  the  edge  and  fall  into  the 
terrible  abyss.  I  sprang  forward,  hoping  to  catch 
him,  but  was  too  late.  I  nearly  fell  over  myself  in 
the  vain  attempt  to  save  him.  I  almost  wish  I  had 
done  so ;  for,  though  the  act  was  the  result  of  his 
own  imprudence,  I  cannot  help  feeling  responsible. 
I  ought  to  have  exercised  my  authority  and  forcibly 
restrained  him  from  drawing  near  the  fatal  brink. 
Yet  I  did  not  like  to  be  too  strict  with  a  boy  of  his 
age ;  I  feared  he  would  dislike  me.  But  I  wish  I 
had  run  that  risk.  Anything  would  have  been 
better  than  to  feel  that  I  might  have  saved  him  and 
neglected  to  do  it. 

"  I  sympathize  deeply  with  you  and  his  mother 
in  your  sorrow  at  this  bereavement.  I  shall  sail  for 
America  in  two  or  three  weeks,  in  order  to  give  Mrs. 
Craven  and  yourself  a  detailed  account  of  this 
calamity.  I  will  bring  home  what  things  I  have  of 
Frank's,  thinking  that  it  may  be  a  sad  satisfaction 
to  his  mother  to  have  them. 

"  I  cannot  write  further.  I  have  a  terrible  head 
ache,  and  am  completely  used  up  by  the  sad  scene 
through  which  I  have  passed. 

"  Yours  truly,  "  SIIAKPLEY." 


266  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

Mr.  Craven  took  out  this  letter  and  read 
it  a  second  time  on  his  way  home. 

"  That's  a  good  letter,"  he  said  to  himself, 
sardonically,  "  so  full  of  sympathy,  regret, 
and  that  sort  of  thing.  I  couldn't  have  done 
it  better  myself,  and  I  have  rather  a  talent 
for  such  things.  Egad !  Sharpley  has  sur 
passed  himself.  I  didn't  give  the  fellow  credit 
for  so  much  hypocrisy.  So  he's  coming  to 
America  to  give  us  a  detailed  account  of  this 
calamity,  is  he  ?  I  know  why  he's  coming. 
It's  to  get  pay  for  his  share  of  the  plot.  Well, 
if  all  goes  well,  I  can  afford  to  pay  him  well, 
though  I  really  think  his  price  was  too  high. 
Now  that  the  young  one  is  out  of  the  way,  I 
must  manage  his  mother,  so  as  to  get  his 
property  into  my  hands.  Forty  thousand 
dollars !  It  will  relieve  me  from  all  money 
cares  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 

As  Mr.  Craven  approached  the  house,  his 
face  assumed  a  grave  and  sorrowful  expression. 
He  was  preparing  to  inflict  a  crushing  blow 
upon  the  devoted  mother,  who  was  even  then 
counting  the  days  to  the  probable  return  of 
her  beloved  boy. 


HOW  THE  NEWS  WENT  HOME.       267 

Entering  the  house,  he  met  Katy  in  the 
hall. 

"  Is  your  mistress  in  ?"  he  asked. 
"  Yes,  sir  ;  she's  up  stairs.    Have  you  heard 
from  Frank,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes,  Katy,"  he  answered  in  a  significantly 
doleful  tone. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter  of  him,  sir  ?"  asked 
Katy,  taking  the  hint. 

"  Oh,  Katy,  I've  heard  bad  news,"  said  Mr. 
Craven,  pulling  out  his  white  handkerchief, 
and  elaborately  wiping  his  eyes. 

" Bad  news!  What  is  it,  sir?"  demanded 
Katy. 

"  I  can't  tell  it,"  wailed  Mr.  Craven. 

"  Spit  it  out  like  a  man  !"  exclaimed  Katy, 
impatiently.  "  Is  the  dear  boy  sick  ?" 

"  Worse." 

"  He  ain't  dead  !"  ejaculated  Katy,  horror- 
struck. 

"  Yes,  he  is  ;  he  fell  over  a  precipice  in  the 
Alps,  and  was  instantly  killed." 

"  What's  a  precipice,  sir  ?" 

"  He  was  on  a  steep  hill  and  he  slipped  over 
the  edge." 


268  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

Katy  uttered  a  loud  shriek,  and  sank  on 
the  lower  stair,  and  throwing  her  apron  over 
her  face,  began  to  utter  what  can  only  be  de 
signated  as  howls  of  grief. 

Mrs.  Craven  from  above  was  drawn  to  the 
head  of  the  landing  by  what  she  heard. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  she  asked,  in  affright. 

"  Oh  !  it's  Master  Frank,  mum.  He's  kilt 
dead,  he  is !" 

"Is  this  true?"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Craven, 
looking  toward  her  husband  with  pale  face. 

"  Yes,  my  dear." 

There  was  a  low  shriek,  and  the  poor  mo 
ther  sank  to  the  floor  in  a  dead  faint. 


BEX  BEINGS  GOOD  NEWS.  269 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

BEN    BRINGS   GOOD    NEWS. 

TJHE  news  of  Frank's  death— or  supposed 
death — was  a  terrible  shock  to  Mrs. 
Craven.  She  was  of  a  nervous  organization, 
and  her  attachment  to  her  son  was  the  greater 
because  he  was  her  only  child.  She  felt  that 
after  his  death  she  would  have  nothing  left 
worth  living  for.  All  her  future  plans  and 
prospects  of  happiness  were  connected  with 
him.  Her  husband,  as  we  know,  was  nothing 
to  her.  She  had  married  him  partly  because 
she  thought  he  might  be  useful  to  Frank. 

"  I  wish  I  could  die,  Katy,"  she  wailed,  ad 
dressing  her  faithful  attendant. 

In  this  hour  of  her  affliction,  Katy  was 
nearer  to  her  than  Mr.  Craven. 

"  Don't  say  that,  missis,"  said  Katy,  sobbing 
herself  the  while. 


270  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  What  have  I  to  live  for,  now  that  my 
poor  boy  is  dead?"  And  she  indulged  in  a 
fresh  outburst  of  grief.  "  My  heart  is  broken, 
Katy." 

"  So  is  mine,  mum — broke  right  in  two!" 
answered  Katy,  sympathetically. 

"To  think  that  my  poor  boy  should  have 
met  with  such  a  terrible  death." 

"  He  never  knew  what  hurt  him,  mum. 
That's  one  comfort." 

"But  I  shall  never  see  him  again,  Katy," 
said  the  poor  mother,  sobbing. 

"  Yes,  you  will,  mum — in  heaven." 

"  Then  I  hope  I  shall  go  there  soon.  Oh, 
I  wish  I  had  never  let  him  go." 

"  So  do  I,  mum.  He  was  so  bright  when 
he  went  away,  poor  lad.  He  little  thought 
what  was  coming." 

It  was  a  comfort  to  Mrs.  Craven  in  her  dis 
tress  to  speak  to  Katy,  whose  devotion  she 
knew.  To  Mr.  Craven  she  did  not  feel  like 
speaking  much.  She  knew  that  Frank  had 
never  liked  him,  and  this  closed  her  lips.  She 
even,  poor  woman,  accused  herself  for  marry 
ing  again,  since,  had  she  not  done  so,  Frank 


BEN  BRINGS  GOOD  NEWS.  271 

would  not  have  gone  abroad,  and  would  still 
be  spared  to  her. 

Mr.  Craven  wisely  kept  out  of  the  way  for 
a  time.  He  wanted  to  introduce  business  mat 
ters,  and  so  carry  out  the  concluding  portion 
of  his  arrangement,  but  he  felt  that  it  would 
be  impolitic  to  do  it  at  once.  Mrs.  Craven 
was  in  no  frame  of  mind  to  give  attention  to 
such  things.  He  could  wait,  though  it  was 
irksome  to  do  so. 

Several  days  passed.  Mrs.  Craven's  sharp 
sorrow  had  given  way  to  a  dull  feeling  of 
utter  despondency.  She  kept  to  her  room  the 
greater  part  of  the  time,  looking  as  if  she  had 
just  emerged  from  a  lengthened  sickness.  Mr. 
Craven  wandered  about  the  village,  suppress 
ing  his  good  spirits  with  difficulty  when  he 
was  at  home,  and  assuming  an  expression  of 
sympathetic  sadness.  But,  when  by  himself, 
he  would  rub  his  hands  and  congratulate 
himself  on  the  near  accomplishment  of  his 
plans. 

One  day,  when  matters  were  in  this  state 
of  depression,  Ben  Cameron  knocked  at  the 
door.  He  had  received  Frank's  letter,  and 


272  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

had  come   over  at  once  to   deliver  his  mes 


sage. 


The  door  was  opened  by  Katy,  who  knew 
Een  well  as  the  most  intimate  friend  of  our 
hero. 

"  Oh,  Ben,  we've  had  bad  news/'  said  Katy, 
wiping  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I've  heard  it,"  said  Ben.  "  How  is 
Mrs.  Craven  ?" 

"  Poor  lady !  she's  struck  down  wid  grief. 
It's  killin'  her.  She  doted  on  that  boy." 

"  Can  I  see  her?"  asked  Ben. 

"  She  don't  feel  like  seein'  anybody." 

"  I  think  she'll  see  me,  because  I  was 
Frank's  friend." 

"Maybe  she  will.  She  know'd  you  was 
always  intimate  friends." 

"Is  Mr.  Craven  at  home?" 

"  No.     Did  you  want  to  see  him  ?" 

"  No.  I  wanted  to  see  Mrs.  Craven 
alone." 

"  You  don't  like  him  no  better'n  I  do,"  said 
Katy. 

"'I  hate  him!"  exclaimed  Ben,  energeti 
cally,  bearing  in  mind  Frank's  suspicions  that 


BEN  BRINGS  GOOD  NEWS.  273 

Mr.  Craven  was  concerned  in  the  attack  upon 
him. 

"  Good  on  your  head !"  said  Katy,  whose 
manners  and  education  did  not  preclude  her 
making  occasional  use  of  the  slang  of  the 
day.  "  I'll  go  up  and  see  if  my  missis  will  see 
you." 

She  returned  almost  immediately. 

"  Come  right  up,"  she  said.  "She'll  be  glad 
to  see  Frank's  friend." 

When  Ben  entered  the  room  where  Mrs. 
Craven,  pale  and  wasted,  sat  in  a  rocking- 
chair,  she  burst  into  tears.  The  sight  of  Ben 
brought  her  boy  more  vividly  to  mind. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Craven  ?"  said  Ben. 

"  My  heart  is  broken,  Benjamin,"  she  an 
swered,  sadly.  "  You  have  heard  of  my  poor 
boy's  death  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  of  it." 

"  You  were  his  friend.  You  know  how 
good  he  was." 

"  Yes,  Frank  is  the  best  fellow  I  know," 
said  Ben,  warmly. 

"  You  say  is.     Alas  !  you  forget  that  he  is 


no  more." 


18 


274  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

Katy  Lad  descended  to  the  kitchen.  Ben 
looked  cautiously  around  him. 

"  Mrs.  Craven,"  he  said,  "  can  you  keep  a 
secret  ?" 

She  looked  surprised. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  faintly. 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  which 
must  be  kept  secret  for  awhile.  Can  you  bear 
good  news  ?  Frank  is  alive  !" 

"  Alive  !"  exclaimed  the  mother,  jumping 
from  her  chair,  and  fixing  her  eyes  implor 
ingly,  almost  incredulously,  on  her  visitor. 

"  Yes.  Don't  be  agitated,  Mrs.  Craven. 
I  have  received  a  letter  from  him." 

"  Is  it  true  ?  Oh,  tell  me  quickly.  Didn't 
he  fall  over  the  precipice?" 

"  Yes,  he  fell,  but  it  was  on  a  soft  spot,  and 
he  was  saved." 

"  Heaven  be  praised  !  Bless  you  for  bring 
ing  such  news.  Tell  me  all  about  it." 

Ben  told  the  story  in  a  few  words,  and  then 
showed  the  letter.  How  it  eased  and  com 
forted  the  poor  mother's  heart  I  need  not  say. 
She  felt  as  if  life  had  been  restored  to  her 
once  more. 


BEN  BRINGS  GOOD  NEWS.  275 

"  You  see,  Mrs.  Craven,  that  there  is  need 
of  silence  and  secrecy.  We  cannot  tell 
whether  Frank's  suspicions  have  any  founda 
tion  or  not.  We  must  wait  and  see." 

"  Do  you  think  Mr.  Craven  could  have  had 
anything  to  do  with  the  wicked  plot?"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Craven,  indignantly. 

"  Frank  thinks  so." 

"  I  will  tax  him  with  it.  If  he  framed  such 
a  plot  he  shall  answer  for  it," 

"  Hush,  Mrs.  Craven,  Remember  Frank's 
wish.  It  will  defeat  his  plans." 

"  It  is  true.  I  forgot.  But  how  can  I  live 
in  the  same  house  with  a  man  who  sought  the 

o 

life  of  my  poor  boy  ?" 

"  We  are  not  sure  of  it." 

"  Do  not  fear.  I  will  do  as  my  boy  wishes. 
But  I  may  tell  him  that  I  do  not  think  he  is 
dead?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  give  no  reason." 

"  And  I  should  like  to  tell  Katy.  She,  poor 
girl,  loves  Frank  almost  as  much  as  I  do." 

"Do  you  think  Katy  can   keep  it  secret?" 

"  Yes,  if  I  ask  her  to,  and  tell  her  it  is 
Frank's  wish." 


276  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Then  I  think  you  can  venture.  I  will 
take  the  letter  and  destroy  it,  as  Frank  wanted 
me  to." 

"  Don't  destroy  it.  You  can  keep  it  where 
no  one  will  see  it." 

When  Ben  went  out  he  told  Katy  that  her 
mistress  wished  to  see  her.  She  went  up,  and 
to  her  surprise  found  that  Mrs.  Craven  had 
thrown  open  the  blind  of  the  hitherto  dark 
ened  chamber,  and  actually  received  her  with 
a  smile. 

Katy  looked  bewildered. 

"  Come  here,  Katy,"  said  her  mistress. 
Then  she  whispered  in  Katy's  ear,  "  Katy, 
he's  alive !" 

"  What !"  exclaimed  the  handmaiden,  in 
credulously. 

"  Yes,  it's  true.  He's  written  to  Ben.  But 
you  must  keep  it  secret.  Sit  down,  and  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  Oh,  the  ould  villain  !"  was  Katy's  com 
ment  upon  the  story.  "I'd  like  to  wring  his 
neck,"  meaning  Mr.  Craven's. 

"  You  must  be  careful,  Katy.  He  isn't  to 
know  we've  heard  anything." 


BEN  BEINGS  GOOD  NEWS.  277 

"  But    he'll    guess    from    your    lavin'    off 


mournin'." 


"  I'll  tell  him  I  have  dreamed  that  my  boy 
escaped." 

''That'll  do,  mum.  When  will  Master 
Frank  be  comin'  home?" 

"  Soon,  I  hope,  but  now  I  can  wait  pa 
tiently  since  Heaven  has  spared  him  to  me." 

When  Mr.  Craven  returned  home  at  the 
close  of  the  afternoon,  he  was  astonished  to 
hear  Katy  singing  at  her  work,  and  to  find 
Mrs.  Craven  dressed  and  down  stairs,  quite 
self-controlled,  though  grave.  In  the  morning 
she  was  in  the  depths  of  despondency,  and 
Katy  was  gloomy  and  sad. 

"What's  up?"  he  thought. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  am  glad  that  you 
are  bearing  your  affliction  better.  It  is  a  ter 
rible  loss,  but  we  should  be  resigned  to  the 
will  of  the  Almighty." 

"  I  don't  think  Frank  is  dead,"  answered 
Mrs.  Craven. 

"  Not  think  he  is  dead  ?  I  wish  there  were 
any  chance  of  your  being  right,  but  I  cannot 
encourage  you  in  such  a  delusion.  There  is, 


278  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

unhappily,  no  chance  of  the  poor  boy  sur 
viving  such  a  fearful  accident/' 

"  You  may  call  it  foolish,  if  you  will,  Mr. 
Craven,  but  I  have  a  presentiment  that  he  is 
alive." 

"  But,  my  dear,  it  is  impossible." 

"  Katy  thinks  so,  too." 

Mr.  Craven  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  wish  it  were  true,  but  there  is  no  hope. 
You  saw  my  friend's  letter  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  He  said  there  was  no  hope." 

"  He  thought  so.  I  am  firmly  convinced 
that  Frank  is  alive." 

Mr.  Craven  tried  to  undermine  her  confi 
dence,  but,  of  course,  without  avail.  He  was 
troubled,  for  if  she  continued  to  cherish  this 
belief  she  would  not  take  possession  of 
Frank's  fortune,  and  thus  he  would  be  cut 
off  from  it. 


ALPINE  EXPLORATIONS  OF  ME.  TARBOX.   279 


A 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

ALPIXE    EXPLORATIONS    OF   ME.  TARBOX. 

RRIVED  at  the  Hotel  du  Glacier,  Mr. 


Tarbox  immediately  instituted  inquiries 
about  the  fate  of  Frank,  and  soon  learned  all 
that  was  known  by  the  people  at  the  inn. 
Being  a  decidedly  straightforward  person,  he 
did  not  fail  to  insinuate,  or  rather  to  make 
direct  charges,  against  Sharpley,  but  these 
found  no  credence.  Sharpley 's  hypocritical 
sorrow,  and  his  plausible  explanation,  had 
imposed  upon  them,  and  they  informed  Mr. 
Tarbox  that  Colonel  Sharpley  was  an  excel 
lent  gentleman,  and  was  deeply  affected  by 
the  accident  which  had  befallen  Monsieur 
Frank. 

"  Deeply  affected — in  a  horn  !"  returned 
the  disgusted  Jonathan. 

"  In  a  horn!"  repeated  the  landlord,  with  a 
perplexed  expression.  "What  is  it  to  be 
deeply  affected  in  a  horn  ?" 


280  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Over  the  left,  then,"  amended  Mr.  Tar- 
box,  impatiently. 

"  I  do  not  understand  over  the  left,"  said 
the  other. 

"  Look  here,  my  friend.  Where  was  you 
raised  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Tarbox. 

"Kaised?" 

"  Yes ;  brought  up — born." 

"  I  was  born  here,  among  these  mountains, 


monsieur." 


"  Did  you  ever  go  to  school  ?" 

"  To  school — a  I' cole  f  Certainement.  I 
am  not  one  ignorant  person,"  said  the  land 
lord,  beginning  to  get  angry. 

"And  you  never  learned  'in  a  horn/ or 
•over  the  left?'" 

"  Non,  monsieur." 

"  Then,"  said  Mr.  Tarbox,  "  it  is  high  time 
the  schools  in  Switzerland  were  reorganized. 
I  should  like  to  speak  to  your  school  com 
mittee." 

"School  committee?" 

"  Yes.  You  have  a  school  committee, 
haven't  you  ?" 

"  Non,  monsieur," 


ALPINE  EXPLORATIONS  OF  ME.  TAKBOX.       281 

"  That  accounts  for  it.  You  need  a  smart 
school  committee  to  see  that  the  right  things 
are  taught  in  your  schools.  But  about  Frank 
— has  his  body  been  found  ?" 

"  Non,  monsieur." 

"  Not  been  found  !     Why  not  ?" 

"  We  have  looked  for  it,  but  we  cannot 
find  it." 

"Poor  boy!"  said  Mr.  Tarbox,  wiping 
away  a  tear.  "  So  he  has  been  left  all  the 
time  lying  dead  in  some  hole  in  the  moun 
tains." 

"  We  have  looked  for  him." 

"Then  you  didn't  look  sharp.  I'll  look 
for  him  myself,  and  when  I've  found  the  poor 
boy  I'll  give  him  decent  burial.  I'd  rather 
bury  that  skunk  Sharpley  a  darned  sight. 
I'd  bury  him  with  pleasure,  and  I  wouldn't 
grudge  the  expense  of  the  coffin.  Now  tell 
me  where  the  poor  boy  fell." 

"My  son  Baptiste  shall  go  and  show  mon 
sieur  the  way." 

"All  right.  It  don't  make  any  difference 
to  me  if  he  is  a  Baptist.  I'm  a  Methodist  my 
self,  and  there  ain't  much  difference,  I  guess. 


282  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

So  just  tell  the  Baptist  to  hurry  up  and  we'll 
set  out.  What's  his  name  ?" 

"  My  son's  name  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  I  not  say  it  was  Baptiste  ?" 

"Oh,  that's  his  name,  is  it?  I  thought  it 
was  his  religion.  Funny  name,  ain't  it  ? 
But  that  makes  no  difference." 

Baptiste  was  soon  ready,  and  the  two  set 
out  together.  The  guide  found  it  rather 
difficult  to  follow  Mr.  Tarhox  in  his  eccen 
tric  remarks,  but  they  got  on  very  well  to 
gether,  and  after  a  time  stood  on  the  fatal 
ledge. 

"  Here  it  was  the  poor  boy  fell  off/'  said 
Baptiste. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Mr.  Tarbox.  "  The 
boy  wasn't  a  fool,  and  he  couldn't  have  fell 
unless  he  was — it  was  that  skunk,  Sharpley, 
that  pushed  him  off." 

"  Monsieur  Sharpley  was  deeply  grieved. 
How  could  he  push  him  off?" 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Sharpley  left  a 
sum  of  money  in  the  hands  of  the  guide  to 
defray  the  burial  expenses  in  case  Frank's 


ALPINE  EXPLORATIONS  OF  MR.  TARBOX.       283 

body  was  found.  This  naturally  made  an  im 
pression  in  his  favor  on  Baptiste's  mind,  par 
ticularly  as  the  money  had  not  been  required, 
and  the  probability  was  that  he  would  be  free 
to  convert  it  to  his  own  use.  Accordingly, 
both  he  and  his  father  were  ready  to  defend 
the  absent  Sharpley  against  the  accusations  of 
Mr.  Tarbox. 

"How  could  he  push  him  off?  Jest  as 
easy  as  winking,"  replied  Jonathan.  "  Jest 
as  easy  as  I  could  push  you  off,"  and  Mr. 
Tarbox  placed  his  hand  on  the  guide's 
shoulder. 

Baptiste  jumped  back  in  affright. 

"  Why,  you  didn't  think  I  was  goin'  to  do 
it,  you  jackass  !"  said  the  Yankee.  "  You're 
scared  before  you're  hurt.  I  only  wanted 
to  show  you  how  it  could  be  done.  Now, 
jest  hold  on  to  my  coat-tail  while  I  look 


over." 


"  Monsieur  had  better  lie  down  and  look 
over.  It  is  more  safe." 

"  I  don't  know  but  you're  right,  Baptiste," 
and  Mr.  Tarbox  proceeded  to  follow  his  ad 
vice. 


284  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL, 

"  It's  a  pesky  ways  to  fall,"  he  said,  after 
a  pause.  "  Poor  Frank  !  it  don't  seem  as 
if  there  was  much  chance  of  his  bein?  alive." 

"  No,  monsieur.     He  is  doubtless  dead  !" 

"  Then,  where  is  his  body  ?  It  is  strange 
that  it  is  not  found." 

"  Yes,  it  is  strange." 

"  I  mean  to  look  for  it  myself.  Is  there 
any  way  to  get  down  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  a  long  way." 

"  Never  mind  that.  We  will  try  it.  I've 
got  a  good  pair  of  legs,  and  I  can  hold  out 
if  you  can." 

"  Very  well,  monsieur." 

They  accordingly  descended  and  explored 
the  chasm  beneath,  climbing  part  way  up, 
looking  everywhere  for  the  remains  of  our 
hero,  but,  as  we  know,  there  was  a  very  good 
reason  why  they  were  not  found.  Frank  was, 
at  that  very  moment,  eating  a  hearty  break 
fast  with  his  friends,  the  Grosvenors,  in  Cob- 
lentz,  preparatory  to  crossing  the  river  and 
ascending  the  heights  of  Ehrenbreitstein. 
He  little  dreamed  that  his  Yankee  friend  was 
at  that  moment  looking  for  his  body.  Had 


ALPINE  EXPLORATIONS  OF  ME.  TARBOX.   285 

Mr.  Tarbox  been  able  to  see  the  said  body, 
he  would  have  been  relieved  from  all  appre 
hensions. 

After  continuing  his  search  for  the  greater 
part  of  a  day,  Mr.  Tarbox  was  obliged  to  give 
it  up.  Though  possessed  of  a  considerable 
share  of  physical  strength,  obtained  by  work 
ing  on  his  father's  farm  from  the  age  of  ten, 
he  was  obliged  to  own  that  he  was  about 
"  tuckered  out."  He  was  surprised  to  find 
that  the  guide  appeared  comparatively  fresh. 

"Ain't  you  tired,  Baptiste?"  he  asked. 

"  Non,  monsieur." 

"  Well,  that's  strange.  You're  a  little  fel- 
ler,  compared  with  me.  I  could  swaller  you 
almost,  and  I'm  as  tired  as  a  dog — clean  tuck- 
eied  out." 

"  I  was  born  among  these  mountains,  mon 
sieur.  I  have  always  been  accustomed  to 
climbing  among  them  ;  and  that  is  the  rea 


son." 


"  I  guess  you're  right,  Baptiste.  I  don't 
think  I  shall  take  up  the  business  of  an  Alpine 
guide  jest  yet.  What  sort  of  plows  do  you 
have  in  Switzerland,  Baptiste  ?" 


286  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  I  will  show  monsieur  when  we  go  hack." 

"All  right.  You  see,  Baptiste,  I've  in 
vented  a  plow  that  goes  ahead  of  all  your  old- 
fashioned  concerns,  and  I'd  like  to  introduce 
it  into  Switzerland." 

"  You  can  speak  to  my  father,  monsieur,  I 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  plowing." 

Mr.  Tarbox  did  speak  to  the  landlord,  after 
first  expressing  his  disgust  at  the  manner  in 
which  agricultural  operations  were  carried  on 
in  Switzerland  ;  hut  he  soon  found  that  the 
Swiss  mind  is  not  one  that  yearns  for  new 
inventions,  and  that  the  prospect  of  selling  his 
patent  in  Switzerland  for  a  good  round  sum 
was  very  small. 

As  he  had  failed  in  his  search  for  Frank, 
and  as  there  seemed  no  business  inducements 
for  remaining,  he  decided  to  leave  the  Hotel 
du  Glacier  and  return  at  once  to  Paris.  He 
did  so  with  a  heavy  heart,  for  he  really  felt 
attached  to  Frank,  and  was  grieved  by  his 
unhappy  fate. 


THE  PLOW  IS  A  SUCCESS.  287 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

THE    PLOW    IS    A    SUCCESS. 

THE    Grosvenors   traveled    in   a    leisurely 
manner,  stopping  at  places  of   interest 
on  the  way,  so  that  they  did  not  reach  Paris 
for  a  fortnight, 

Mr.  Tarbox  had  been  back  over  a  week  be 
fore  Frank  arrived  at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre. 
Our  hero  had  by  this  time  got  very  well  ac 
quainted  with  his  party,  and  the  favorable 
impression  which  he  at  first  made  was  consid 
erably  strengthened.  Little  Herbert  took  a 
great  fancy  to  him,  and  Frank  allowed  the 
little  boy  to  accompany  him  in  many  of  his 
walks.  Frequently,  also,  Beatrice  was  of  the 
party.  She,  too,  was  much  pleased  with  our 
hero,  and  treated  him  in  a  frank,  sisterly  way, 
which  Frank  found  agreeable.  Mr.  Grosvenor 
noticed  the  intimacy  established  between  his 
children  and  Frank,  but  he  saw  that  our  hero 


288  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

was  well  brought  up,  and  very  polite  and 
gentlemanly,  and  therefore  was  not  displeased 
by  it.  In  fact  he  was  gratified,  for  he  saw 
that  it  added  considerably  to  the  pleasure 
which  they  derived  from  the  journey. 

On  the  morning  after  their  arrival  in  Paris 
Frank  prepared  to  go  out. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Frank  ?"  asked 
little  Herbert. 

Beatrice  also  looked  up,  inquiringly. 

"  To  see  a  friend  of  mine,  Herbert." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?" 

"It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  inquisitive, 
Herbert,"  said  his  father. 

"  Oh,  it  is  no  secret,"  said  Frank,  laughing. 
"  It  is  Jonathan  Tarbox,  of  Squashboro', 
State  o'  Maine." 

"  What  a  funny  name  !" 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  queer  name,  and  its  owner  is 
a  little  queer,  also,  but  he  is  a  good  fellow  for 
all  that.  He  is  a  genuine  specimen  of  the 
Yankee,  Mr.  Grosvenor." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him,"  said  Mr.  Gros- 
venor,  smiling.  "  Invite  him  to  call." 

"  I  will,  sir,  thank  you.    Though  he  is  un- 


THE  PLOW  IS  A  SUCCESS.  289 

polished,  I  believe  you  will  find  that  he  has 
something  in  him." 

Mr.  Tarbox  was  back  in  his  place  in  the 
exposition  building.  He  had  not  ceased  to 
mourn  for  Frank.  Still  he  felt  in  better 
spirits  than  usual,  for  he  had  had  an  inter 
view  with  a  wealthy  American  capitalist,  who 
had  looked  into  the  merits  of  his  plow,  and 
half-promised  that  he  would  pay  him  ten 
thousand  dollars  for  a  half  ownership  of  the 
patent.  This  would  make  Mr.  Tarbox  a  man 
of  great  wealth  in  his  native  place  (Squash- 
boro',  State  o'  Maine),  and  enable  him  to  tri 
umph  over  his  friends  and  relations,  who  had 
thought  him  a  fool  for  going  to  the  expense 
of  a  trip  to  Europe,  when  he  might  have  in 
vested  the  same  sum  in  a  small  farm  at  home. 

He  was  busily  engaged  in  thinking  over 
his  prospects,  when  he  was  startled  by  a 
familiar  voice. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Tarbox  ?"  said  Frank, 
saluting  him. 

"What!"  gasped  Mr.  Tarbox,  fixing  his 
eyes  upon  our  hero  in  a  strange  mixture  of 
incredulity,  wonder,  bewilderment  and  joy. 

19 


290  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Tarbox,  you  don't  seem  glad 
to  see  me,"  said  Frank.  "  You  haven't  forgot 
ten  me,  have  you  ?" 

"  Are  you  alive  ?"  asked  Mr.  Tarbox,  cau 
tiously,  eying  him  askance. 

"  Alive  ?  I  rather  think  I  am.  Just  give 
me  your  hand." 

The  Yankee  mechanically  extended  his 
hand,  and  Frank  gave  him  a  grip  which  con 
vinced  him  that  he  was  flesh  and  blood. 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  dead  !" 

"You  see  I  am  not." 

"  I  saw  the  cliff  where  you  tumbled  off, 
and  broke  your  neck." 

"  I  got  it  mended  again,  said  Frank, 
laughing.  "  But  you  say  you  saw  the  cliff. 
Have  you  been  to  Switzerland  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  mistrusted  something  was  goin* 
to  happen  to  you." 

"  How  could  you  mistrust  ?  What  led  to 
your  suspicions?" 

"  A  letter  that  your  step-father  wrote  to 
that  skunk,  Sharpley,  in  which  he  talks  about 
your  meeting  with  an  accident." 

"  But,"  inquired  Frank,  in  surprise,  "  how 


THE  PLOW  IS  A  SUCCESS.  291 

did   you  get  hold  of  such  a  letter  ?     I  knew 
nothing  about  it." 

"  You  left  it  here  one  day  by  accident." 

"  Where  is  it?     Let  me  read  it." 

"  First,  let  me  ask  you  a  question.  Didn't 
that  skunk  push  you  off  the  cliff?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Frank,  gravely. 

"  And  how  did  you  escape  ?" 

"  Some  peasants  found  me  on  a  snow-cov 
ered  ledge  on  which  I  had  fallen.  They 
took  me  home,  and  nursed  me  till  I  was  well 
enough  to  travel." 

"Are  you  with  that  skunk  now?" 

"  No ;  I  never  would  travel  with  him 
again, "said  Frank,  shuddering, 

"  Where  is  he  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  But  let  me  have  the  let 
ter." 

He  read  in  silence  the  paragraph  which 
has  been  quoted  in  an  earlier  chapter.  When 
he  had  finished  he  looked  up. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  there  is 
no  doubt  that  Mr.  Craven  employed  Colonel 
Sharpley  to  make  away  with  me." 

"Then  he  is  a  skunk,  too!" 


292  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Mr.  Tarbox,  I  would  not  mind  it  so  much 
but  for  one  thing." 

"What  is  that,  Frank?" 

"  He  is  married  to  my  mother.  If  he  lays 
this  plot  for  me,  what  will  he  do  against 
her?" 

"  He  will  try  to  get  hold  of  her  money." 

"  I  fear  so,  and  if  she  resists  I  am  afraid  he 
will  try  to  injure  her." 

"  May  be  you're  right,  Frank." 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  go  home  at  once ; 
don't  you  think  so?" 

"  I  don't  know  but  you're  right,  Frank. 
I'm  almost  ready  to  go  too." 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  to  ask  you  what  luck  you 
had  met  with." 

"  I  expect  I'll  do  first-rate.  There's  a  gen 
tleman  that's  talkin'  of  buyiu'  one-half  my 
plow  for  ten  thousand  dollars." 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Tarbox,"  said 
Frank,  heartily  ;  "  I  hope  he'll  do  it." 

"  I  guess  he  won't  back  out.  He's  been 
inquirin'  about  it  pretty  close.  He  thinks  it's 
a  big  thing." 

"I've  no  doubt  he's  right,  Mr.  Tarbox." 


THE  PLOW  IS  A  SUCCESS.  293 

"  It'll  take  the  shine  off  all  the  plows  that's 


goinV 


"  Perhaps  business  will  detain  you,  then, 
Mr.  Tarbox." 

"  No,  Mr.  Peterson — that's  his  name — is 
goin'  back  to  America  in  a  week  or  two,  and 
if  he  strikes  a  bargain  I'll  go  too.  Won't 
dad  open  his  eyes  when  his  son  comes  home 
with  ten  thousand  dollars  in  his  pocket  ? 
May  be  he  won't  think  me  quite  such  a  fool 
as  he  thought  when  I  started  off  for  Europe, 
and  wouldn't  buy  a  farm,  as  he  wanted  me  to, 
with  that  money  I  got  as  a  legacy." 

"  But  you  will  have  half  your  patent  also." 

"  Of  course  I  will,  and  if  that  don't  bring 
me  in  a  for  tun'  it's  because  folks  can't  tell  a 
good  plow  when  they  see  it.  But  there's  one 
thing  I  can't  understand,  Frank." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Where  did  you  get  all  your  money  to 
travel  after  you  got  pitched  over  the  precipice 
by  that  skunk  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  tell  you  that.  Well,  after  I 
was  able  to  travel  I  examined  my  purse,  and 
found  I  had  only  twelve  dollars." 


294  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL, 

"  That  waVt  much/' 

"  No,  particularly  as  I  liad  to  pay  ten 
dollars  to  the  good  people  who  picked  me 
up.  I  shall  send  them  more  as  soon  as  1 
have  it." 

"  Jest  draw  on  me,  Frank.  I  ain't  rich, 
but  ef  you  want  a  hundred  dollars  or  more, 
jest  say  so." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Tarbox,"  said  Frank, 
gratefully.  "  I  wouldn't  hesitate  to  accept 
your  very  kind  offer,  but  I  do  not  now 
need  it." 

He  then  proceeded  to  explain  his  meet 
ing  with  the  Grosvenors  just  when  he  stood 
in  most  need  of  assistance.  He  dwelt  upon 
the  kindness  they  had  shown  him,  and  the 
pleasure  lie  had  experienced  in  their  so 
ciety. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  been  so  lucky.  Gros- 
venor  is  a  brick,  but  it  ain't  surprisin'  he 
should  take  a  fancy  to  you." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  a  compliment,  Mr.  Tar- 
box,"  said  Frank,  smiling. 

"  Perhaps  it  is.  I  don't  know  much 
about  compliments,  but  I  know  I  felt  awful 


THE  PLOW  IS  A  SUCCESS.  295 

bad  when  I  thought  you  was  dead.  I 
wanted  to  thrash  that  skunk  within  an  inch 
of  his  life." 

"  I  guess  you  could  do  it,"  said  Frank, 
surveying  the  athletic  form  of  his  Yankee 
friend. 

"  I'll  do  it  now  if  I  ever  come  across  him. 
Where  do  you  think  he  is?" 

"  I  think  he  has  gone  to  America  to  ask 
pay  for  disposing  of  me." 

"  I  guess  so,  too.  They  told  me  at  that 
Hotel  du  Glacier  (the  last  word  Mr.  Tarbox 
pronounced  in  two  syllables)  that  he  was 
goin'  home  to  break  the  news  to  your  folks. 
I  guess  your  step-father  won't  break  his  heart 
badly." 

"I  must  follow  him,"  said  Frank.  "I 
shall  feel  uneasy  till  I  reach  home  and  un 
mask  their  villany." 

"  I  hope  we'll  go  together." 

"I'll  let  you  know,  Mr.  Tarbox,  when  I 
take  passage.  Then,  if  your  business  is 
concluded,  we  will  be  fellow-passengers  once 
more." 


296  FKANK  HUNTER'S  PEEIL. 


CHAPTEE  XXXV. 

MR.    CRAVEN    MEETS    WITH    UNEXPECTED 
DIFFICULTIES. 


m.  CRAVEN  was  placed  in  a  difficult 
position.  At  the  special  request  of 
Frank,  as  conveyed  in  his  letter,  she  had 
agreed  to  keep  secret  her  knowledge  of  his 
safety.  Of  course,  she  could  no  longer  in 
dulge  in  her  sorrow,  which  at  first  over 
whelmed  her.  Her  only  course  was  to  affirm 
her  belief  in  his  deliverance,  though  she  was 
not  at  liberty  to  name  the  grounds  upon  which 
her  belief  was  based.  This  must  necessarily 
seem  strange,  as  a  "  presentiment  "  was  a  very 
slender  reason  for  the  change  in  her  manner. 
Had  she  been  willing  to  play  a  part,  Mrs.  Cra 
ven  might  still  have  counterfeited  grief,  but 
this,  again,  was  not  in  accordance  with  her 
nature.  She  preferred  to  be  misunderstood, 


CRAVEN"  MEETS  UNEXPECTED  DIFFICULTIES.       297 

and  to  excite  surprise  in  those  who  were 
ignorant  of  the  facts. 

But  this  was  not  her  only  perplexity. 
There  was  the  haunting  suspicion  that  the 
man  whom,  unhappily  for  herself,  she  called 
husband,  had  instigated  the  wicked  plot 
against  the  life  of  her  only  son.  Frank  be 
lieved  it.  It  might  not  be  true ;  yet,  while 
there  was  a  possibility  of  its  truth,  how  could 
she  continue  to  treat  him  with  her  usual  cour 
tesy  ?  She  sought  to  do  it,  but  she  could  not. 
Though  studiously  polite,  her  manner  became 
very  cold — almost  repellent.  When  Mr.  Cra 
ven  approached  her  she  could  hardly  avoid 
shuddering. 

Of  course,  this  change  became  perceptible 
to  him,  and  he  was  puzzled  and  disturbed.  It 
upset  all  his  calculations.  He  thought  she 
would  accept  the  fact  of  Frank's  death — of 
which,  by  the  way,  he  had  no  doubt  himself — • 
and  would  be  so  overcome  by  sorrow  that  he 
could  readily  obtain  her  consent  to  those  busi 
ness  steps  which  would  place  the  entire  con 
trol  of  Frank's  fortune  in  his  hands.  Yet  here 
she  was,  declining  to  believe  that  he  was  dead, 


298  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

and  evidently  her  confidence  in  him  was,  for 
some  reason,  chilled  and  impaired. 

Mr.  Craven  was  impatient  to  broach  the 
subject,  and  finding  his  wife's  manner  still  the 
same,  and  with  no  prospect  of  alteration,  he 
devised  a  plausible  mode  of  approaching  the 
subject  which  was  so  near  his  heart, 

One  evening,  after  the  supper  dishes  were 
removed,  just  as  Mrs.  Craven  was  leaving  the 
room,  he  called  her  back. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  will  you  sit  down  a 
few  minutes  ?  I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to 
you." 

She  complied  with  his  request. 

"  Ahem  !"  he  commenced.  "  I  have  taken  a 
step  to-day  of  which  I  wish  to  apprize  you." 

"  Indeed." 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  Sensible  of  the  uncer 
tainty  of  life,  I  have  to-day  made  my  will." 

"  Indeed !"  she  said  again,  exhibiting  no 
particular  interest  in  Mr.  Craven's  communi 
cation. 

"  You  do  not  ask  me  in  what  way  I  have 
left  my  money !" 

"  I  do  not  suppose  it  concerns  me." 


CRAVEN"  MEETS  UNEXPECTED  DIFFICULTIES.        299 

"  But  it  does,  materially.  I  have  no  near 
relatives — at  least,  none  that  I  care  for.  I 
have  bequeathed  all  my  property  to  you." 

As  Mr.  Craven  possessed  nothing  whatever 
apart  from  the  money  which  his  wife  per 
mitted  him  to  control,  this  magnanimous  lib 
erality  did  not  require  any  great  self-denial 
or  evince  any  special  affection  on  his  part. 
However,  his  wife  did  not  know  that,  and 
upon  her  ignorance  he  relied.  He  expected 
her  to  thank  him,  but  her  manner  continued 
cold. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  your  intention," 
she  said,  "  but  I  am  not  likely  to  survive  you." 

"  We  cannot  tell,  my  dear.  Should  you 
live  to  be  my  widow,  I  should  wish  you  to  in 
herit  all  I  left  behind  me." 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  should  prefer  that  you 
would  leave  all  you  possess  to  the  relatives 
you  refer  to." 

"  I  have  none  that  I  care  for." 

"  I  suppose  we  must  sometimes  leave  prop 
erty  to  those  we  do  not  particularly  like." 

Mr.  Craven  was  very  much  disappointed  by 
the  coldness  with  which  his  liberality  was  re- 


oOU  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

ceived.  He  wanted  to  suggest  that  his  wife 
should  follow  his  example  and  leave  him  her 
fortune,  increased  as  it  was  by  Frank's,  of 
which  she  was  the  legal  heir.  But  this  pro 
posal  was  not  so  easy  to  make.  Nevertheless, 
he  determined,  at  any  rate,  to  try  for  the  con 
trol  of  Frank's  estate. 

"  There's  but  one  thing  more  I  want  to 
mention,"  he  said.  "  But  first  let  me  say,  that 
my  will  must  stand  without  alteration.  Of 
course,  you  can  make  such  disposition  of  my 
property  as  you  like  when  it  falls  to  you,  but 
to  you  it  must  go.  Now,  for  the  other  matter. 
I  beg  you  will  excuse  me  from  saying  any 
thing  to  grieve  you,  but  it  must  be  said.  It 
is  necessary  for  us  to  take  some  measures  about 
poor  Frank's  property." 

"  Why  is  it  necessary  ?" 

"  Since  he  is  dead—" 

"  But  he  is  not  dead,"  said  Mrs.  Craven, 
quickly. 

"  Not  dead  ?  Have  we  not  Colonel  Sharp- 
ley's  testimony  ?  He  saw  the  poor  boy  fall 
over  the  cliff." 

Mr.  Craven  drew  out  his  handkerchief  and 


CRAVEN"  MEETS  UNEXPECTED  DIFFICULTIES.       301 

pressed  it  to  his  eyes,  but  his  wife  displayed 
no  emotion. 

"  Then  I  don't  believe  Colonel  Sharpley," 
said  Mrs.  Craven. 

"  .Don't  believe  liim  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Cra 
ven.  "  What  possible  motive  can  he  have  for 
stating  what  is  not  true  ?" 

"  It  may  be  that  Frank  fell,  but  that  would 
not  n*ecessarily  kill  him." 

Still  she  shuddered,  as  fancy  conjured  up 
the  terrible  scene. 

Mr.  Craven  shook  his  head. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "I  regret  to  destroy 
your  hopes.  If  such  a  fancy  could  be  in 
dulged  without  interfering  with  what  ought 

O  O  O 

to  be   done,  I  would   say  nothing  to  disturb 
your    dream,   wild   and  improbable  as  it  is. 
But  Frank  left  property.     The   law  requires 
that  it  should  be  legally  administered." 
"  Let  it  accumulate  till  my  boy  returns." 
"That   would    be   foolish    and   idle.     The 
poor  boy  will  never  need  it  more ;"  and  again 
Mr.  Craven  buried  his  emotion  in  the  depth 
<>f  his  handkerchief.     "  His  bright  and  prom 
ising  career  is  over  for  this  world.     He  has 


302  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

gone  where  worldly  riches  will  never  benefit 
him  more." 

But  for  her  private  knowledge  of  Frank's 
safety,  Mrs.  Craven  would  have  been  moved 
by  his  pathetic  reference ;  but,  as  it  was,  she 
stood  it  without  manifesting  any  emotion,  thus 
plunging  her  husband  into  deeper  and  more 
angry  bewilderment. 

"  As  I  said  before,"  returned  his  wife,  "  I 
firmly  believe  that  Frank  is  still  alive." 

"  What  proof—  what  reason  can  you  offer  ?" 
demanded  Mr.  Craven,  impatiently. 

"  None,  except  my  fixed  conviction." 

"  Based  upon  nothing  at  all,  and  contra 
dicted  by  the  most  convincing  testimony  of 
eye-witnesses." 

"  That  is  your  view." 

"  It  is  the  view  of  common  sense." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  doing  anything  about 
the  property  at  present,  is  there  ?  I  am  the 
legal  heir,  am  I  not  ?" 

"  Ahem  !     Yes." 

"  Then  it  is  for  me  to  say  what  shall  be 
done.  I  am  in  no  hurry  to  assume  possession 
of  my  boy's  fortune." 


CRAVEN  MEETS  UNEXPECTED  DIFFICULTIES.       303 

Mr.  Craven  bit  liis  lip.  Here  was  an  im 
practicable  woman.  Apparently,  nothing 
could  be  done  with  her — at  least  as  long  as 
she  shared  this  delusion. 

"  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  convince  you,"  he 
said,  "  that  you  are  laboring  under  a  happy 
but  an  untenable  delusion.  I  expect  Colonel 
Sharpley  in  the  next  steamer." 

Mrs.  Craven  looked  up  now. 

"  Is  he  coming  here  ?"  she  asked, 

"  Yes ;  so  he  writes.  He  wishes  to  tell  you 
all  about  the  accident — how  it  happened,  and 
some  details  of  poor  Frank's  last  experiences 
in  Europe.  He  felt  that  it  would  be  a  satis 
faction  to  you  to  hear  them  from  his  own  lips. 
He  has,  therefore,  made  this  journey  expressly 
on  your  account." 

Mrs.  Craven  looked  upon  Sharpley  as  the 
murderer  of  her  boy.  It  was  his  hand,  she 
believed,  that  thrust  him  from  the  cliff  and 
meant  to  compass  his  death.  Could  she  re 
ceive  such  a  man  as  a  guest? 

"  Mr.  Craven,"  she  said,  abruptly,  "  if  Colo 
nel  Sharpley  comes  here,  I  have  one  request 
to  make." 


304  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"What  is  it,  my  dear?" 

"  That  you  do  not  invite  him  to  stay  in  this 
house." 

"  Why,  my  dear  ?  I  thought  you  would 
like  to  see  the  last  companion  of  poor  Frank," 
returned  Mr.  Craven,  surprised. 

"  I  cannot  bear  the  sight  of  that  man.  But 
for  him,  Frank  would  not  have  incurred  such 
peril." 

"  But  Sharpley  is  not  to  blame  for  an 
accident.  He  could  not  help  it.  I  regret 
that  you  should  be  so  unreasonably  preju 
diced." 

"  Call  it  prejudice  if  you  will.  I  could  not 
endure  the  thought  of  entertaining  him  as  a 
guest." 

"This  is  very  strange,  my  dear.  What 
will  he  think?" 

"  I  cannot  say,  but  you  must  not  invite  him 
here." 

Mrs.  Craven  left  the  room,  leaving  her  hus 
band  angry  and  perplexed. 

"  Surely  she  can't  suspect  anything !"  he 
thought,  startled  at  the  suggestion.  "  But  no, 
it  is  impossible.  We  have  covered  our  tracks 


CRAVEN  MEETS  UNEXPECTED  DIFFICULTIES.       305 

too  carefully  for  that.  On  my  soul,  I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  This  obstinate  woman 
threatens  to  upset  all  my  plans.  I  will  con 
sult  Sharpley  when  he  comes/' 


20 


306  FKANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

SHARPLEY'S  RETURX 

A  FEW  days  later,  as  Mr.  Craven  sat  in 
his  office  smoking  a  cigar,  while  medi 
tating  upon  the  best  method  of  overcoming 
his  wife's  opposition  to  his  plans,  the  outer 
door  opened,  and  Sharpley  entered. 

"  Well,  Craven,"  he  said,  coolly,  "  you  ap 
pear  to  be  taking  it  easy." 

"  When  did  you  arrive  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Craven. 

"  Yesterday.  You  ought  to  feel  compli 
mented  by  my  first  call.  You  see  I've  lost 
no  time  in  waiting  upon  you." 

"  I  received  your  letter,"  said  Craven. 

"Both  of  them?" 

"Yes." 

"  Then  you  know  that  your  apprehensions 
were  verified,"  said  Sharpley,  significantly. 
"  The  boy  was  as  imprudent  as  you  antici- 


SHARPLEY'S  RETURN.  307 

pated.  He  actually  leaned  over  too  far,  in 
looking  over  an  Alpine  precipice,  and  tum 
bled.  Singular  coincidence,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"  Then  he  is  really  dead  ?"  said  Mr.  Craven, 
anxiously. 

"  Dead  ?  I  should  think  so.  A  boy 
couldn't  fall  three  or  four  hundred  feet,  more 
or  less,  without  breaking  his  neck.  Unless 
lie  was  made  of  India  rubber,  he'd  be  apt  to 
smash  something." 

"  Did  you  find  his  body  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  didn't  stop  long  enough.  I  came 
away  the  next  day.  But,  fearing  that  I 
might  seem  indifferent,  and  that  might  arouse, 
suspicion,  I  left  some  money  with  a  guide,  the 
son  of  the  landlord  of  the  Hotel  du  Glacier, 
to  find  him  and  bury  him." 

"  I  would  rather  you  had  yourself  seen  the 
body  interred.  It  would  have  been  more 
satisfactory." 

"Oh,  well,  I'll  swear  that  he  is  dead.  That 
will  be  sufficient  for  all  purposes.  But  how 
does  your  wife  take  it?" 

"  In  a  very  singular  way,"  answered  Mr. 
Craven. 


308  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  In  a  singular  way  ?  I  suppose  she  is 
overwhelmed  with  grief,  but  I  shouldn't  call 
that  singular — under  the  circumstances." 

"  But  you  are  mistaken.  She  is  not  over 
whelmed  with  grief." 

Sharpley  started. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  she  doesn't  mind 
it?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  it  isn't  that." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?" 

"  She  won't  believe  the  boy's  dead." 

"  Won't  believe  he  is  dead  ?  Did  you  show 
her  my  letter?" 

"  Yes." 

"  That  ought  to  have  been  convincing." 

"  Of  course  it  ought.  Nothing  could  be 
more  direct  or  straightforward.  At  first  it 
did  seem  to  have  the  proper  effect.  She 
fainted  away,  and  for  days  kept  her  room, 
refusing  to  see  any  one,  even  me." 

"  Well,  that  must  have  been  a  sacrifice," 
said  Sharpley,  ironically;  "not  to  see  her 
devoted  husband." 

"  But  all  at  once  there  was  a  change.  One 
day  I  came  home  at  the  close  of  the  after- 


SHARPLEY'S  RETURN".  309 

noon,  supposing,  as  usual,  that  my  wife  was 
in  her  room,  but,  to  my  surprise,  she  was 
below.  She  had  ceased  weeping  and  seemed 
even  cheerful — though  cold  in  her  manner. 
On  complimenting  her  upon  her  resignation, 
she  astonished  me  by  saying  that  she  wras 
convinced  that  Frank  was  still  alive/' 

"  Did  she  assign  any  reason  for  this  be 
lief?"  asked  Sharpley,  thoughtfully. 

"  Only  that  she  had  a  presentiment  that  he 
had  escaped." 

"  Nothing  more  than  this  ?" 

"  Nothing  more.' 

"  Pooh  !     She  is  only  hoping  to  the  last." 

"  It  seems  to  be  something  more  than  that. 
If  it  was  only  hope,  she  would  have  fear  also, 
and  would  show  all  the  suspicion  and  anxiety 
of  such  a  state  of  mind.  But  she  is  calm  and 
cheerful,  and  appears  to  suffer  no  anxiety." 

"  That  is  singular  to  be  sure,"  said  Sharp- 
ley  ;  "  but  I  suppose  it  will  not  interfere  with 
our  designs  ?" 

u  But  it  will.  When  I  ventured  delicately 
to  insinuate  that  Frank's  property  ought,  ac 
cording  to  law,  to  be  administered  upon,  she 


310  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

absolutely  declined,  saying  that  there  would 
be  time  enough  for  that  when  he  was  proved 
to  be  dead." 

"  I  can  remove  that  difficulty/'  said  Sharp- 
ley.  "  She  will  hardly  need  more  than  my 
oral  testimony." 

Mr.  Craven  shook  his  head. 

"  I  forgot  to  say  that  she  has  taken  an 
unaccountable  prejudice  against  you.  She 
doesn't  want  me  to  invite  you  to  the  house. 
She  insists  that  she  is  not  willing  to  meet  you 
as  her  guest." 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?"  asked  Sharpley, 
abruptly.  "  Do  you  think,"  he  continued, 
in  a  lower  tone,  "  that  she  has  any  suspi 
cions?" 

"  I  don't  see  how  she  can,"  answered  Cra 
ven. 

"  Then  why  should  she  take  such  a  preju 
dice  against  me  ?" 

"She  says,  that  but  for  you,  Frank  would 
never  have  gone  abroad/' 

"  And  so,  of  course,  not  have  met  with  this 
accident  ?" 

"  Yes." 


SHAEPLEY'S  EETURN.  311 

"  Then,  it's  all  right.  It's  a  woman's  unrea 
sonable  whim,"  said  Sharpley,  apparently  re 
lieved  by  this  explanation. 

"That  may  be;  but  it  is  equally  inconve 
nient.  She  won't  believe  your  testimony,  and 
will  still  insist  that  Frank  is  alive." 

A  new  suspicion  entered  Sharpley's  mind 
— this  time,  a  suspicion  of  the  good  faith  of 
his  confederate,  of  whom,  truth  to  tell,  he 
had  very  little  reason  to  form  a  good  opinion. 

"  Look  here,  Craven,"  he  said,  his  counte 
nance  changing.  "I  believe  you  are  at  the 
bottom  of  this." 

"At  the  bottom  of  what?"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Craven,  in  genuine  astonishment. 

"  I  believe  you've  put  your  wife  up  to 
this." 

"  What  should  I  do  that  for  ?  Why  should 
I  bite  my  own  nose  off — in  other  words  frus 
trate  my  own  plans  ?" 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  you  would,"  returned 
Sharpley,  suspiciously. 

"  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?" 

"  You  want  to  cheat  me  out  of  the  sum  I 
was  to  receive  for  this  service." 


312  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  How  ?" 

"  By  pretending  you  can't  get  possession  of 
the  boy's  property.  Then  you  can  plead  in 
ability,  and  keep  it  all  yourself." 

"  On  my  honor,  you  do  me  injustice,"  said 
Craven,  earnestly. 

"  Your  honor  !"  sneered  Sharpley.  "  The 
least  said  about  that  the  better." 

"  Be  it  so ;  but  you  must  see  that  my  in 
terests  are  identified  with  yours.  I  will  prove 
to  you  that  all  I  have  said  is  true." 

"  How  will  you  prove  it?" 

"  By  bringing  you  face  to  face  with  Mrs. 
Craven.  By  asking  you  to  come  home  with 


me." 


She   said   she    did    not  want   to   receive 


me." 


"  You  shall  learn  that  from  her  manner. 
After  you  are  convinced  of  it,  after  you  find 
she  won't  credit  your  tale  of  Frank's  death, 
we  will  consult  as  to  what  shall  be  done.' 

"Very  well.  It  will  be  strange  if,  after 
what  has  already  been  accomplished,  we  can 
not  circumvent  an  obstinate  woman." 

"  I  think  we  can,  with  your  help." 


SHARPLEY'S  RETURN.  313 

"  Very  well.  When  shall  we  try  the  experi 
ment?" 

"  At  once/' 

Mr.  Craven  took  his  hat  and  led  the  way 
out  of  his  office,  followed  by  Sharp! ey.  They 
walked  at  a  good  pace  to  the  handsome  dwell 
ing  already  referred  to,  and  entered. 

"Katy,"  said  Mr.  Craven,  "go  up  stairs 
and  tell  your  mistress  that  Colonel  Sharpley 
is  here.  He  has  just  returned  from  Europe." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Katy,  looking  askance  at 
Sharpley,  whom,  in  common  with  her  mis 
tress,  she  regarded  as  a  would-be  murderer. 

"  Ma'am,"  said  she,  a  moment  later,  in  Mrs. 
Craven's  chamber,  "  he's  here." 

"  Who's  here  ?" 

"  That  murderin'  villain,  ma'am." 

"What!  Colonel  Sharpley?"  said  Mrs. 
Craven,  dropping  her  work  in  agitation. 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  and  Mr.  Craven  wants  you 
to  come  down  and  see  him." 

"  How  can  I  see  that  man,  who  tried  to  take 
the  life  of  my  dear  boy  ?"  said  Mrs.  Craven, 
in  continued  agitation.  "  What  shall  I  do, 
Katy  ?" 


314  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  do,  ma'am.  I'd  go 
down  and  see  what  I  can  find  out  about  it. 
Jest  ax  him  questions,  and  see  what  he's  got, 
to  say  for  himself." 

Mrs.  Craven  hesitated,  hut  she  wanted  to 
learn  something  of  her  absent  boy,  and  fol 
lowed  Katy's  advice. 

As  she  entered  the  room,  Sharpley  advanced 
to  meet  her,  with  extended  hand.  She  did 
not  seem  to  see  it,  but  passed  him  coldly  and 
sank  into  a  rocking  chair. 

He  bit  his  lip  with  vexation,  but  otherwise 
did  not  show  his  chagrin. 


MRS.  CRAVEN'S  FIXED  IDEA.  315 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

MRS.  CRAVEN'S  FIXED  IDEA. 


*  *  "TJTOU  will  probably  wish  to  ask  Colonel 
JL  Sharpley  about  the  circumstances 
attending  poor  Frank's  loss,"  said  Craven,  in 
a  soft  voice. 

"  I  am  ready  to  hear  what  Colonel  Sharp- 
ley  has  to  say,"  returned  Mrs.  Craven, 
coldly. 

"  I  see  you  are  displeased  with  me,  mad- 
ame,"  said  Sharpley.  "  I  can  understand 
your  feelings.  You  associate  me  with  the  loss 
of  your  son." 

"I  do!"  said  Mrs.  Craven,  with  em 
phasis. 

"  But  that  is  not  just,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Craven.  "  Accidents  may  happen  at  any 
time — they  are  beyond  human  foresight  or 
control.  It  is  my  friend  Sharpley's  misfor 
tune  that  our  Frank  came  to  his  sad  end 
while  in  his  company." 


316  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  While  in  his  company  ?"  repeated  Mrs. 
Craven,  looking  keenly  at  Sharpiey. 

"  You  think  I  should  have  prevented  it, 
Mrs.  Craven.  Gladly  would  I  have  done  so, 
but  Frank  was  too  quick  for  me.  With  a 
boy's  curiosity  he  leaned  over  the  precipice, 
lost  his  balance  and  fell." 

"  When  did  this  happen — what  day  of  the 
month  ?" 

"  It  was  the  eighteenth  of  August." 

Mrs.  Craven  remembered  with  joy  that  the 
letter  which  she  had  read,  addressed  to  Ben 
Cameron,  was  dated  a  week  later ;  it  was  a 
convincing  proof  of  Frank's  safety. 

"  You  are  sure  that  it  was  the  eight 
eenth  ?" 

"  Yes,  perfectly  so,"  answered  Sharpiey, 
not,  of  course,  seeing  the  drift  of  her  ques 
tion. 

"Did  you  find  Frank's  body?"  asked 
Mrs.  Craven,  with  less  emotion  than  Sharp- 
ley  expected  from  the  nature  of  the  ques 
tion. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  and  immediately  after 
ward  wished  he  had  said  yes. 


MRS.  CRAVEN'S  FIXED  IDEA.  317 

"  Then,"  said  Mrs.  Craven,  "  Frank  may  be 
alive," 

"  Impossible !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Craven  and 
Sharpley  in  unison. 

"Why  impossible?" 

"  The  precipice  was  too  high ;  it  was  ab 
solutely  impossible  that  any  one  could  have 
fallen  from  such  a  height  and  not  lose  his 
life." 

"  But  you  did  not  find  the  body  ?" 

"  Because  I  started  for  home  the  very 
next  day  to  let  you  know  what  had  hap 
pened.  I  left  directions  with  a  guide  to 
search  for  and  bury  the  body  when  found. 
He  has  doubtless  done  it.  A  letter  from  him 
may  be  on  the  way  to  me  now  announcing  his 


success." 


"  When  you  receive  the  letter  you  can  show 
it  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Craven,  quietly. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Sharpley. 

Then  he  regretted  that  he  had  not,  while 
in  Europe,  forged  such  a  letter,  or,  failing 
this,  that  he  had  not  positively  declared  that 
he  had  personally  witnessed  Frank's  burial. 
This  would  have  removed  all  difficulty. 


318  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  I  have  not  expressed  my  sympathy  in 
your  loss,"  said  Sharpley  ;  "  but  that  is  hardly 
necessary." 

"  It  is  not  at  all  necessary,"  said  Mrs.  Cra 
ven,  "  for  I  believe  Frank  to  be  alive." 

"  How  can  you  believe  it,"  asked  Sharpley, 
with  difficulty  repressing  his  irritation,  "  in 
the  face  of  my  testimony  ?" 

"  You  are  not  sure  of  Frank's  death." 

"  I  am  as  sure  as  I  can  be." 

"  I  am  not,"  said  Mrs.  Craven,  quietly. 

"  But,  permit  me  to  ask,  how  could  he  pos 
sibly  escape  from  the  consequences  of  such  a 
fall  ?" 

"  That  I  cannot  explain  ;  but  there  have 
been  escapes  quite  as  wonderful.  I  have  a 
presentiment  that  Frank  is  alive." 

"  I  did  not  think  you  were  so  superstitious, 
niy  dear,"  said  Mr.  Craven. 

"  Call  it  superstition  if  you  please.  With 
me  it  is  conviction." 

Involuntarily  the  eyes  of  the  two — 
Craven  and  Sharpley — met.  There  were 
irritation  and  perplexity  in  the  expression 
of  each.  What  could  be  done  with  such  a 


MRS.  CRAVEN'S  FIXED  IDEA.  319 

perverse  woman,  so  wholly  inaccessible  to 
reason  ? 

"  Confound  it !"  thought  Sharpley.  "  If  I 
had  foreseen  all  this  trouble,  I  would  have 
stayed  and  seen  the  brat  under  ground.  Of 
all  the  unreasonable  women  I  ever  met,  Mrs. 
Craven  takes  the  palm." 

"  I  have  not  yet  told  the  circumstances,"  he 
said,  aloud.  "  Let  me  do  so.  You  will  then, 
probably,  understand  that  your  hopes  have 
nothing  to  rest  upon." 

He  gave  a  detailed  account,  exaggerating 
the  dangerous  character  of  the  cliff  pur 
posely. 

"  What  do  you  think  now,  my  dear  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Craven. 

"  I  believe  that  Frank  escaped.  If  he  has, 
he  will  come  home,  sooner  or  later.  I  shall 
wait  patiently.  I  must  now  beg  to  be  ex 
cused." 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  and  left  the  room. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  Sharpley  ?" 
demanded  Craven,  when  she  was  out  of  ear 
shot.  "  Did  I  not  tell  you  the  truth  ?" 

"Yes,   your    wife  is  the    most   perverse, 


820  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

unreasonable  woman  it  was  ever  my  lot  to 
encounter." 

"  You  see  the  difficulty  of  our  position, 
don't  you  ?" 

"  As  to  the  property  ?" 

"  Yes.  Of  course,  that's  all  I  care  for. 
Believing,  as  she  does,  that  Frank  is  alive,  she 
won't  have  his  property  touched." 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  are  not  the  guardian,  in 
stead  of  your  wife." 

"  It  is  a  thousand  pities.  But  what  can 
we  do  ?  I  want  your  advice." 

Sharpley  sat  in  silent  thought  for  five 
minutes. 

"Will  it  answer  if  I  show  your  wife  a 
certificate  from  the  guide  that  he  has  found  and 
buried  Frank?" 

"  Where  will  you  get  such  a  certificate  ?" 

"  Write  it  myself  if  necessary." 

"That's  a  good  plan,"  said  Craven,  nod 
ding. 

"Do  you  think  she  will  resist  the  weight 
of  such  a  document  as  that  ?" 

"  I  don't  see  how  she  can." 

"  Then  it  shall  be  tried." 


MRS.  CRAVEN'S  FIXED  IDEA.  321 

Three  days  later,  as  soon  as  it  was  deemed 
prudent,  Sharpie y  called  again  at  the  house. 
He  had  boarded  meanwhile  at  the  hotel  in 
the  village,  comprehending  very  clearly  that 
Mr.  Craven  was  not  at  liberty  to  receive  him 
as  a  guest. 

Mrs.  Craven  descended,  at  her  husband's 
request,  to  meet  the  man  whom  she  detested. 
She  had  received  a  second  call  from  Ben, 
who,  with  all  secrecy,  showed  her  a  line  from 
Frank,  to  the  effect  that  he  was  well,  had 
found  good  friends,  and  should  very  shortly 
embark  for  America.  It  was  an  effort  for 
the  mother  to  conceal  her  joy,  but  she  did  so 
for  the  sake  of  expediency. 

"  When  I  was  last  here,  Mrs.  Craven,"  said 
Sharpley,  "you  expressed  doubt  as  to  your 
son's  death." 

"I  did." 

"  I  wish  you  had  had  good  reason  for  your 
doubt,  but  I  knew  only  too  well  that  there 
was  no  chance  for  his  safety." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  I  am  now  prepared  to  prove  to  you  that 

he  is  dead." 

21 


322  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  How  will  you  prove  it  ?" 

"  Read  that,  madame,"  lie  said,  extending  a 
paper. 

She  took  the  paper  extended  to  her,  and 
read  as  follows : 

"  HONORED  SIR  : — As  you  requested,  I  searched 
for  the  body  of  the  poor  boy  who  fell  over  the  cliff. 
I  found  it  concealed  among  some  bushes  at  the  bot 
tom  of  the  cliff.  It  was  very  much  bruised  and  dis 
figured,  but  the  face  was  less  harmed  than  the  body, 
so  that  we  knew  it  at  once.  As  you  directed,  I  had 
it  buried  in  our  little  cemetery.  I  will  point  out  the 
grave  to  you  when  you  come  this  way. 

"  I  hope  what  I  have  done  will  meet  your  appro 
val,  and  I  remain,  honored  sir,  your  servant, 

"BAPTISTE  LAMOUBEUX, 

"  Alpine  Guide." 

"  That  removes  every  doubt,"  said  Mr. 
Craven,  applying  his  handkerchief  to  his 
eyes.  "  Poor  Frank  !" 

"  When  did  you  receive  this  letter,  Colonel 
Sharpley  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Craven. 

"  Yesterday." 

"  It  was  written  by  a  Swiss  guide  ?" 

"  Yes,  madame." 


MRS.  CRAVEN'S  FIXED  IDEA.  323 

"  He  shows  an  astonishing  knowledge  of 
the  English   language,"  she  said,  with  quiet 


meaning. 


"  He  probably  got  some  one  to  write  it  for 
him,"  said  Sharpley,  hastily. 

"  So  I  thought,"  she  said,  significantly. 

"  What  difference  can  that  make,  my 
dear?"  demanded  Mr.  Craven.  "  It  seems  to 
me  of  no  importance  whether  he  wrote  it 
himself,  or  some  traveler  for  him.  You  can't 
doubt  Frank's  death  now  ?" 

"I  do." 

"  Good  heavens!     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  I  am  confident  that  my  boy 
is  alive.  No  one  can  convince  me  to  the 
contrary,"  and  she  rose  and  left  the  room. 

"The  woman  is  mad!"  muttered  Sharpley. 

So  she  is,"  said  Craven,  rubbing  his  hands, 

as  an  evil  thought  entered  his  mind.    "  She  is 

the  subject  of  a  mad  delusion.     Now  I  sec 

my  way  clear." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  this.  I  will  obtain  a  certificate 
of  her  madness  from  two  physicians,  and  have 
her  confined  in  an  asylum.  Of  course,  a  mad 


324  FEANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

woman  cannot  control  property.  Everything 
will  come  into  my  Lands,  and  all  will  be 
right." 

"  You've  hit  it  at  last,  Craven  !"  said  Sharp- 
ley,  with  exultation.  "  That  plan  will  work. 
We'll  feather  our  nests,  and  then  she  may 
come  out  of  the  asylum,  or  stay  there,  it  will 
be  all  the  same  to  us." 


RETRIBUTION.  325 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

RETRIBUTION. 

rjlHE  two  rogues  lost  no  time  in  carry  - 
JL  ing  out  their  villanous  design.  They 
thirsted  for  the  gold,  and  were  impatient  to 
get  rid  of  the  only  obstacle  to  its  acquisition. 
Sharpley  found  two  disreputable  hangers-on 
upon  the  medical  profession  in  the  city  of 
New  York  who,  for  twenty-five  dollars  a 
piece,  agreed  to  pronounce  Mrs.  Craven  in 
sane.  They  came  to  the  village,  and  were 
introduced  to  Mrs.  Craven  as  business  friends. 
The  subject  of  Frank's  loss  was  cunningly 
introduced,  and  she  once  more  affirmed  her 
belief  in  his  safety.  This  was  enough.  An 
hour  later,  in  Mr.  Craven's  office,  the  two 
physicians  signed  a  paper  certifying  that  his 
wife  was  insane.  They  received  their  money 
and  went  back  to  the  city. 


326  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

The  next  day  was  fixed  upon  by  the  con 
spirators  for  taking  Mrs.  Craven  to  an  insane 
asylum. 

Late  the  day  previous  a  Cunard  steamer 
arrived  at  its  dock.  Among  the  passengers 
were  two  of  our  acquaintances.  One  was 
Frank  Hunter,  our  hero,  sun-browned  and 
healthy,  heavier  and  taller,  and  more  self-re 
liant  than  when,  three  months  before,  he 
sailed  from  the  port  of  New  York  bound  for 
Liverpool.  The  other  no  one  can  mistake. 
The  blue  coat  and  brass  buttons,  the  tall 
and  somewhat  awkward  form,  the  thin  but 
shrewd  and  good-humored  face,  are  those  of 
Jonathan  Tarbox,  of  Squashboro',  State  o' 
Maine. 

"  Well,  Frank,  I'm  tarnal  glad  to  be  here," 
said  Mr.  Tarbox.  "  It  seems  kind  of  nat'ral. 
Wonder  what  they'll  say  in  Squashboro'  when 
they  see  me  come  home  a  man  of  fortun'." 

"  Your  plow  is  a  great  success,  Mr.  Tarbox. 
You  ought  to  be  proud  of  it." 

"  I  be,  Frank.  My  pardner  says  he 
wouldn't  take  twenty  thousand  for  his  half 
of  the  invention,  but  I'm  satisfied  with  the 


RETRIBUTION.  327 

ten  thousand  he  gave  me.  I  didn't  never  ex 
pect  to  be  worth  ten  thousand  dollars." 

"  You'll  be  worth  a  hundred  thousand  be 
fore  you're  through." 

"  Sho !  you  don't  mean  it.  Any  how,  I 
guess  Sally  Sprague'll  be  glad  she's  going  to 
be  Mrs.  Tarbox.  I  say,  Frank  we'll  live  in 
style.  Sally  shall  sit  in  the  parlor,  and  play 
on  the  pianner.  She  wouldn't  have  done  that 
if  she'd  took  up  with  Tom  North.  He's  a 
shiftless,  good-for-nothin'  feller.  But,  I  say, 
Frank,  what'll  your  folks  say  to  see  you  ?" 

"  Mother'll  be  overjoyed,  but  Mr.  Craven 
won't  laugh  much.  I  hope,"  he  added, 
gravely,  "  he  hain't  been  playing  any  of  his 
tricks  on  mother." 

"  Do  you  think  that  skunk,  Sharpley,  has 
got  back  ?" 

"  I  think  he  has,  and  it  makes  me  anxious. 
Mr.  Tarbox,  will  you  do  me  a  favor  ?" 

"  Sartin,  Frank." 

"  Then,  come  home  with  me.  I  may  need 
a  friend." 

"  I'll  do  it,  Frank,"  said  Jonathan,  grasp 
ing  our  hero's  hand.  "  Ef  that  skunk's  round 


328  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

the  neighborhood,  I'll  give  him  a  piece  of  my 
mind." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Frank.  "I  am  not 
afraid  of  him,  but  I  am  only  a  boy,  and  they 
might  be  too  much  for  me.  With  you  I  have 
no  cause  to  fear." 

They  reached  the  village  depot,  and  set  out 
to  walk.  Frank  met  two  or  three  friends,  who 
looked  upon  him  as  one  raised  from  the  dead. 
He  merely  spoke  and  hurried  on. 

When  a  few  rods  from  the  house,  their  at 
tention  was  called  to  a  woman,  who  was  run 
ning  up  the  street,  without  any  covering  upon 
her  head,  sobbing  like  one  in  distress. 

u  Why,  it's  our  Katy!"  exclaimed  Frank, 
in  great  jigitation.  "  Good  heavens  !  what  can 
have  happened  ?" 

"  Katy  !"  he  cried  out. 

"  Oh,  Master  Frank,  is  it  you  ?"  exclaimed 
Katy,  laughing  hysterically.  "  You're  come 
in  time.  Run  home  as  fast  as  ever  you 


can." 


"  Why,    what's    the    matter  ?"    demanded 
Frank,  in  great  alarm. 

"  Them  rascals,  Mr.  Craven  and  Sharpley, 


EET1UBUTION.  329 

pretend  that  your  mother  is  crazy,  just  be 
cause  she  won't  hear  to  your  bein'  dead,  and 
they're  takin'  her  to  the  crazy  'sylum.  I 
couldn't  stand  it,  and  I  run  out  to  see  if  I 
couldn't  get  help." 

"  The  blamed  skunk !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Tar- 
box,  swinging  his  arms  threateningly.  "  Let 
me  get  a  hold  of  him  and  he  won't  never 
know  what  hurt  him." 

Meanwhile,  Craven  and  Sharpley  had 
forced  Mrs.  Craven  into  a  close  carriage, 
and  they  were  just  driving  out  of  the  yard 
when  our  hero  and  his  friend  rushed  to  the 
rescue. 

Mr.  Tarbox  sprang  to  the  horses'  heads  and 
brought  them  to  a  stop,  while  Frank  hurried 
to  the  door  of  the  coach,  which  he  pulled 
open.  Inside  were  Mrs.  Craven,  her  husband 
and  Sharpley. 

They  looked  angrily  to  the  door,  but  their 
dismay  may  be  conceived  when  they  met  the 
angry  face  of  one  whom  both  believed  to  be 
dead. 

"  Oh,  Frank !"  screamed  Mrs.  Craven. 
"  You  are  come  home  at  last." 


830  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

"  Yes,  mother.  Let  ine  help  you  out  of  the 
carriage." 

"  You  shall  not  go !"  said  Mr.  Craven,  des 
perately.  "  Frank,  your  mother's  insane. 
We  are  taking  her  to  the  asylum.  It  is  for 
her  good." 

"  Save  me,  Frank !"  implored  Mrs.  Craven. 

"  I  will  save  you,  mother,"  said  Frank, 
firmly. 

"  Drive  on  !"  shouted  Sharpley,  savagely. 

"  Look  a  here !"  exclaimed  a  new  voice, 
that  of  Jonathan  Tarbox,  who  was  now  peep 
ing  into  the  carriage.  "  That  is  the  skunk 
that  tried  to  murder  you/' 

"  What  do  you  mean,  fellow  ?"  demanded 
Sharpley. 

"  If  you  don't  understand,  come  out  and 
I'll  lick  it  into  you,  you  skunk !  Tell  your 
mother  to  come  out,  and  let  that  skunk  stop 
her  if  he  dares !"  and  Mr.  Tarbox  coolly 
drew  out  a  revolver  and  pointed  it  at  Sharp- 
ley. 

"Til  get  out,  too,"  said  Mr.  Craven, 
faintly. 

"  No,  you  won't.    I've  got  a  letter  of  yourn, 


RETRIBUTION.  331 

written  to  that  skunk,  advisin'  him  to  pitch 
Frank  over  a  precipice.'' 

"  It's  a  lie  !"  ejaculated  Craven,  pallid  with 
fear. 

"  It  comes  to  the  same  thing,"  said  Mr. 
Tarbox,  coolly.  "  When  he's  tried  for  mur 
der,  you'll  come  in  second  fiddle." 

Sharpley  saw  his  danger.  Mr.  Craven  was 
already  out  of  the  carriage.  He  made  a  dash 
for  the  door,  but  found  himself  in  Jonathan's 
powerful  grasp.  In  a  moment  he  was  sprawl 
ing  on  his  back  in  the  yard. 

"  Jest  lie  there  till  I  tell  you  to  get  up,"  he 
said. 

By  this  time  two  neighbors — athletic  farm 
ers — entered  the  yard.  Frank  briefly  ex 
plained  the  matter  to  them,  and  Mr.  Tarbox 
asked  their  assistance  to  secure  Sharpley  and 
Craven. 

"  Let  me  go,  Frank.  I'm  your  step 
father,"  implored  Craven.  "  If  that  man  has 
attempted  your  life,  I  know  nothing  of  it. 
Blame  him  ;  not  me." 

"  Oh,  that  is  your  game,"  said  Sharpley, 
"  you  cowardly  hound  !  You  want  to  sell  me 


332  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

and  go  scot-free  yourself.  Then,  gentlemen, 
it  becomes  my  duty  to  say  that  this  man  has 
no  business  here.  At  the  time  he  married 
this  boy's  mother  he  had  a  wife  living  in 
London." 

"  It's  a  lie  !"  faltered  Craven. 

"It's  the  truth.  I  saw  her  two  months 
since,  and  so  did  the  boy.  You  remember  Mrs. 
Craven,  whom  you  relieved  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Frank,  in  astonishment. 

"  She  is  that  man's  wife." 

"  Thank  Heaven !"  exclaimed  Frank. 
"  Then  my  mother  is  free." 

"  Moreover,  he  hired  rne  to  carry  you 
abroad,  with  the  understanding  that  you 
should  not  return,  in  order  that  he  might 
enjoy  your  fortune." 

"  You  miserable  snake  in  the  grass  !"  ex 
claimed  Mr.  Tarbox,  energetically. 

Mr.  Craven,  who  was  a  coward  at  heart, 
was  thoroughly  overwhelmed  at  the  revela 
tions  of  his  baseness,  and  made  no  resistance 
when  taken  into  custody.  Sharpley  and  he 
were  closely  confined  until  indictments  could 
be  found  against  them,  and,  to  anticipate 


RETRIBUTION.  333 

matters  a  little,  were  tried,  convicted  and  sen 
tenced  to  ten  years  in  the  State  prison.  It 
was  found  that  Mr.  Craven  had  squandered 
several  thousand  dollars  belonging  to  his  wife, 
but  Frank's  fortune  was  intact,  and  they  in 
dulged  in  no  useless  regrets  for  the  money 
that  was  gone. 

Frank  went  back  to  school,  where  he  re 
mained  until  the  next  summer,  when  he 
induced  his  mother  to  visit  Europe  under 
his  guidance.  They  visited  his  friends,  the 
Grosvenors,  by  whom  they  were  cordially 
received.  They  went  to  Switzerland,  where 
Mrs.  Hunter  (Craven  no  longer),  beheld, 
with  a  shudder,  the  scene  of  her  son's  fall 
and  escape. 

Some  years  have  now  elapsed.  Frank  is  a 
young  man,  and  junior  partner  in  a  prosper 
ous  New  York  firm.  He  is  not  married,  but 
rumor  has  it  that  next  fall  he  is  to  visit  Lon 
don  for  the  purpose  of  uniting  his  fortunes  to 
those  of  Beatrice  Grosvenor,  whose  early  fancy 
for  our  hero  has  ripened  into  a  mature  affec 
tion,  It  is  probable  that  Mr.  Grosvenor  will  be 
induced,  after  his  daughter's  marriage,  to 


334  FRANK  HUNTER'S  PERIL. 

establish  himself  in  New  York,  in  order  to 
be  near  her. 

Frank's  mother  still  lives,  happy  in  the 
goodness  and  the  prosperity  of  her  son.  She 
has  improved  in  health,  and  is  likely  to  live 
many  years,  an  honored  member  of  Frank's 
household. 

Our  Yankee  friend,  Jonathan  Tarbox,  is 
one  of  the  magnates  of  Squashboro',  State  o' 
Maine.  He  and  his  partner  have  built  a 
large  manufactory,  from  which  plows  are 
turned  out  by  hundreds  and  thousands  annu 
ally.  He  is  now  Squire  Tarbox,  and  Sally 
Sprague  has  changed  her  last  name  for  one 
beginning  with  T.  I  should  not  be  surprised 
to  see  him  a  member  of  Congress,  or  Governor 
of  Maine  some  time. 

Frank  has  settled  a  pension  upon  the  real 
Mrs.  Craven,  who  will  probably  never  see 
her  husband  again,  as  he  is  reported  in  poor 
health,  and  not  likely  to  leave  the  prison 
alive.  Sharpley  succeeded  in  effecting  his  es 
cape,  and  it  is  not  known  where  he  has  taken 
refuge.  Ben  Cameron  is  a  trusted  clerk  in 
Frank's  employ,  and  our  hero  will  take  care 


RETRIBUTION.  335 

that  his  old  school  friend  prospers.  Though 
his  path  lies  in  sunshine,  Frank  is  not  likely 
to  forget  the  peril  from  which  he  so  narrowly 
escaped. 


THE   END. 


t  -.   JL  *_.  O-fc-. 

10  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


MAK  UIJ 


5 

EEC,  CIR, 


JUN 


UGl  01994 


LD  2lA^M  3,'65 
(F2336slO)476B 


I.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


C0301fl'UMD 


